


92nd Hunger Games - SYOT

by RavensongForever



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: District 1, District 10, District 11, District 12, District 13, District 2, District 3 (Hunger Games), District 4, District 5, District 6, District 7, District 8, District 9 (Hunger Games), Love, Multi, Multiple Endings, Original Character(s), Tributes, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1967400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavensongForever/pseuds/RavensongForever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rebellion was crushed by the Capitol's new Enforcers. District 13 was captured and now must endure the Hunger Games. President Trancey Snow is now in power. District 12 is slowly building back up. But the games are about to begin: the 92nd Hunger Games are here. As if losing Finnick wasn't enough, Annie must watch her only son get reaped into the games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

{{{Thanks to everyone who submitted [a] tribute(s)! This SYOT is now officially CLOSED. Now all that's left to do is sit back and enjoy the Games!}}}

_\-----------------Warning: This story may contain instances of:  
_

_-Violence and gore_

_-Hot guys and gorgeous girls_

_-Fluffy moments_

_-Heart-wrenching moments_

_-Cheesy Lines_

_-Dramatic Entrances_

_-Comic Relief_

_-Death_

_-Birth_

_-Guys with pink hair and way too much make-up_

_-Prologue and Epilogue_

_-Two possible endings_

_-Cliff-hangers_

_-Spontaneous Interactions_

_-Murderous children_

_-Homicide_

_-Death-defying stunts_

_-Mortal Kombat_

_-Alcohol use (DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE OR UNDERAGE DRINKING!)_

_-Cursing_

_-Censorship_

_-Nose-bleeds_

_-Tissue dabbing_

_-Strangling Capitol citizens/representatives_

_-SPOIIILEERS!_

_-Unusual creatures_

_-Crimes against Nature_

_-And a tap-dancing, assassin turkey-wait...whaaaat?!_

  
**-TRIBUTES-**

**-DISTRICT 1- Luxury Goods**

Male: Helion "Jinx" Javis || 14 years || Throwing Stars || PenMagic  
Female: Diamond Hill || 18 years || Knives || houseofme  
 ****  
-DISTRICT 2- Masonry (also supplies weapons, trains,)  
  
Male: Hero Fletcher || 16 years || Sword || Infamouskal420  
Female: Gadget Mclellan || 17 years || Bow + Arrows || tasherekalb

**-DISTRICT 3- Electronics**  
  
Male: Pixo Rixen-Heart || 15 years || Explosives || LeoValdezandFinnickOdair  
Female: Alice Pascal || 16 years || Sling-shot || faceless eater aka slendergirl

**-DISTRICT 4- Fishing**  
  
Male: Reed Odair || 17 years || (His father's) Trident || RavensongForever  
Female: Catherine "Cat" Simmons || 17 years || Spear || Odestalovebaby

**-DISTRICT 5- Power**

Male: Asriel Von Hapsburg || 18 years || Sword || thebrutishempire  
Female: Xena Kyva || 16 years || (pending) || BrownEyedEmmerly

**-DISTRICT 6- Transportation**

Male: Kaiden Sauveterre || 18 years || Halberd || RavensongForever  
Female: Spinelli Marshall || 15 years || Darts || Taylor1103

**-DISTRICT 7- Lumber**

Male: Baer || 16 years || Axe || ThisIsYourFinalWarning  
Female: Emmeline "Em" Mailloux || 15 years || Morning Star || ThisIsYourFinalWarning

**-DISTRICT 8- Textiles**

Male: Nell McArthur || 17 years || Mace || Kiliflower  
Female: Lilac Normindy || 16 years || Throwing Knives || RaNdOmArTiSt123

**-DISTRICT 9- Grain**

Male: Caz Angel || 13 years || Nunchucks || BangBangishotyoudown  
Female: Milly Tanner || 16 years || Sickle || BangBangishotyoudown

**-DISTRICT 10- Livestock**

Male: Felix Sarthers || 12 years || Machete || RaNdOmArTiSt123  
Female: Annalise Beth Coles || 18 years || Dagger || Anais Maillou

**-DISTRICT 11- Agriculture**

Male: {reserved}  
Female: Ivory "Ivy" Falcon || 14 years || Club || Anais Maillou

**-DISTRICT 12- Coal**

Male: Light Trent || 18 years || Electric Whip || tasherekalb  
Female: Melody White || 17 years || Sword || xSakura-Blossomsx

**-DISTRICT 13- Nuclear**

Male: Ander Jansen || 14 years || Slingshot || Savvy the Hunter of Artemis  
Female: Electra Biel || 16 years || Trident || nevergone4ever

_***IMPORTANT PLOT POINTS***  
(This story will contain story progress through the trilogy with changes)_

*Finnick is dead in this series. (As much as I'd like to bring him back...)  
*It's the 92nd Hunger Games.  
*Children of tributes may be added.  
*The rebellion was crushed by a new technology engineered by the Capitol: The Enforcers.  
*Katniss, Peeta, and Gale are all still alive, but are in prison.  
*President Trancey Snow is now in power-she is Snow's Granddaughter.  
*After the rebellion, District 13 was punished by being raided and forced to participate in the Hunger Games. Their weapons were confiscated by the Capitol, rending them defenseless.  
*Security has been tightened in all districts: force fields now prevent anyone from leaving their district's territory.  
*District 12 had been rebuilt as a tiny, struggling town even poorer than before.


	2. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second rebellion ended in failure, when the Capitol introduced its new Enforcers.
> 
> "Only when the world has gone dark can we see the light beyond ourselves."

* * *

 

I remember.

    How the floor beneath my feet shook and dust rained down from the ceiling. The frightened, somber faces of the people huddled around me. The cracks in the stone floor and the speck of green emerging from one.

    I remember.

    When a bomb hit the building across the street, shattering the windows of the store we were hiding in. How the other children whimpered and clung tightly to their mothers. The way people stared at us: me in my mother’s lap as she muttered nonsense in my ear. She held me to her bosom and I was grateful for her warmth. Sometimes when the foundation shook violently, she would scream. My mother’s shrill voice had terrified me, yet I instinctively reached for her. I would comfort her with my baby ramblings, for I was able to walk but not form proper words.

    I remember.

    That as her sea-green eyes refocused on me, she smiled. A smile void of insanity. A smile overflowing with nothing short of love. A smile so endearing that I giggled and touched my tiny hand to her cheek. For a moment I could believe that my world wasn’t falling down around me.

 

    I was aware, yet I didn’t understand what was happening that day. I didn’t understand why these loud, heavy machines suddenly dropped from the sky. They landed with such force they left craters. To me, they looked like awkward, gray birds: two thick legs, a fat body, and a long, narrow beak.

    Everyone just sort of stared dumbfounded at them.

    I thought they were kind of cool looking. I even believed they might be on our side.

    But when have the odds ever been in the Districts’ favor?

    It took them a moment to ‘wake up’ and stretch their legs, but when they did...the bloodbath began. Tearing through the streets, beams of light erupted from their gaping maw, slicing off limbs and leaving people smoldering on the ground. People tried to run. Oh, they tried.

    My mother took my in her arms and ran the other way. She never looked back, but I could see everything over her shoulder.

    A man with a hook stuck in his beard hobbled after us until two machines reduced him to a cloud of ash dispersed on the wind. A woman ushered three small young children into a bakery before the front door was blasted off its hinges.

    Looking down, I watched the ground pass by as my mother carried me towards a man waving his arms wildly. She darted past him and we descended into darkness as he swung the cellar doors shut behind us.

    I remember.

    How even the coughing ceased, when thundering steps were heard just outside. The eerie silence as my mother held her breath, her eyes shining like a feral animal’s from the light filtering in through the floorboards above us.

    Then the threat stormed away into the distance and my mother gasped for air. Several people sighed and someone burst out crying.

    I remember.

    The whistle of a bullet piercing the air and the sharp clang of metal. The smell of gunpowder as it drifted in with the draft. People were yelling outside, shooting at the machines. The very horror we would eventually call: The Enforcers.

 

    Days passed...then weeks…

    I had no concept of time back then. Everything felt either too long or too short.

    The guns firing, the Enforcers’ rampage...it all dragged on too long.

    I didn’t know what was wrong, but my mother was suffering. Occasionally, she’d set me next to her, cover her ears, and scream. Then I would cover my ears too. There were always people trying to sooth her, shush her, or-and I hated the sound of it-slap her. Apparently, it was the only way to get her to stop because the sting of it caught her attention more than the raging chaos outside.

    Suddenly, she broke down sobbing and my eyes watered, so I rubbed at them.

    I remember.

    How one night we left the massive bunker of District 13 and dashed away into the waning moonlight. While many thought we were mad-as they already suspected of my mother-we were the blessed ones. For as fate would have it: the Enforcers reached the secluded compound and tore its insides out.

    People were dragged out and any who put up a fight were slaughtered mercilessly. After a few Enforcers charged into the bunker, black smoke started escaping. A narrow stream became a wide tower rising into the hazy sky.

    The stench of sulfur and burning flesh made my nose crinkle. Luckily, we were already dipping over the horizon, a barren hill slowly blocking my view completely.

    I remember.

    The way my mother’s silky dress rippled in the breeze. The warmth of her hand encasing mine. I barely stood as tall as her knees.

Waves rolled onto shore in an array of colors: red, orange, yellow, and pink. The sun steadily rose in the sky to reveal our surroundings.

Wiggling my toes, I buried my feet in the squishy sand. It felt cool against my skin and I bent down to grab some of it. Without warning, the tide came in and startled me into dropping my handful of sand. I looked up at my mother, but she was staring off into the distance. She seemed mesmerized by the never-ending waves.

I remember.

When they found us holding hands on the beach, watching the tide come and go. The moment of weightlessness as my mother yanked me into her arms. The sound of her desperate cries as they grabbed her.

Smelling the salt that hung so thickly in the air that I could open my mouth and taste it.

I remember.

The figure of a man standing in my footprints as my mother and I are shoved into a flying machine-a hovercraft I would later recall. The flash of sea-green eyes that didn’t belong to my mother. He raised his arm and a trident appeared in his hand. To me, he looked about to throw it into the back of the man who gets in after us.

I blink.

He’s gone.

 

I remember how I’ve been wronged.

I will not forget who I am. I won’t let them change me. I’ll be strong for my mother. I’ll honor my father.

And I will fight for my future.


	3. District 4's Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Annie has left of Finnick is their son and the Capitol wants to take even that away.
> 
> "A mother's tears portray the greatest sorrow of all."

* * *

 

I touch my cheek. It’s warm. I look up at the bright orb hanging above my head.

“Well, Cat...today’s the day. The day you hate the most every year.”

The brightness causes me to shield my eyes with my hand and I soon look away. I continue my stroll through Oceana-a fair-sized town in District 4. There are a couple others, but here is where I was born. Here is where I’ll die...if I’m lucky.

Today could change everything.

“Relax, Cat! Your name is only on six slips of paper in thousands! What are the odds?” I reassure myself, yet I can’t help remembering how cruel the odds could be: how the famed Mockingjay’s little sister had better odds than I, yet she was chosen before Katniss.

Or so people say. 

I’m not sure what I can believe. That a rebellion really happened? That as the Mockingjay, Katniss defied all odds to bring the Capitol to its knees? That we lost District 4’s hero, Finnick Odair-whose handsomeness and charm were legendary-to the Capitol’s unyielding power?

Whatever happened all those years ago is a mystery to me. All I know is that the Games have been here and were always here. It’s almost like it’s not possible for the Games to  not exist.

A twig snaps beneath my sandal as I veer out of town on a path to the beach. Following the dirt path takes me through a small forest and my nose is bombarded with the scent of pine and moldy leaves. It’s such a musky odor and not what I wanted. What I want is just past this break in the treeline.

Stepping out from the tree cover, I pause to stare in awe at the horizon.

Blue waves slosh onto shore. Further out the waves crest a bubbly white. Sunlight glitters across the ocean’s surface as if revealing hidden gems beneath its depths.

It takes another moment for the salty breeze to reach me and to deepen my blonde curls. I take a deep breath, relishing the familiar smell of the sea. Then I slip off my sandals and stroll down the shore barefoot. There’s just something so natural about my feet against the soft sand.

The waves roll lazily up to my toes, calming my nerves. Water tickles my feet and a tendril of seaweed catches on my ankle. I fish it out of the water as the tide recedes. Turning it over in my hands, I study it: the deep green of its leaves, the elasticity of the stem, and the fact it’s so alive in my grasp.

Looking around, I find no one. Nevertheless, I cast the seaweed aside. The last thing I needed today was some jerk teasing me about my strange fascination with the amphibious plant.

I sigh. Why am  I the odd one out? I think everyone else is just the strange ones. I mean, why should I care what they think of me? I don’t need people like them as my friends. Heck, I don’t need fri-Oh who am I kidding? I’m lonely: plain and simple. I wonder if anyone will even miss me if I died in the arena…

Shaking my head, I will the thought away.

“Enjoy the view, Cat! Don’t waste the only time you have to relax on stupid thoughts like that!” a voice in my head urges.

Kneeling down, I stare at my reflection in the surf. My blue eyes stare back at me and with a frown, I pull on an especially-tight curl.

“So much for looking my best today…”

Suddenly, the tide rushes in and I jump up. The water swells around my calves disrupting my balance. My gaze turns to the horizon, so I spot the huge wave heading my way. Eyes widening, I watch as the wave begins to cave on itself, creating a tunnel of indigo.

I blink. 

“What  is that?” I wonder.

Something shoots out of the tunnel just ahead of the caving mass. Whatever it is glides across the side of the wave with practiced ease.

As the wave comes closer I can make out more details: tan skin, copper hair, gr-

“N-No way! Is that-?”

His hand extends to touch the water and he smiles a white-toothed smile. I’m not kidding; he’s got perfect teeth and a perfect smile.

Heat makes my ears itch as I realize where my thoughts are going.

“I am NOT going down that road again! He’s not even that good-looking anyway,” I think stubbornly.

As his ride comes to an end, he dives off his board to embrace the sea. For several moments he’s lost in the depths. Then he resurfaces to my left.

“Oh, forget it...here I go again!”

I swear time suddenly slows down.

Rising out of the sea like some heavenly being, he fails to notice me at first. The same can’t be said for the other-way-around. 

I can’t stop staring at a drop as it slides down his bare chest. My vision centers in on that drop and I follow it down to his narrow hips-

“Sorry, am I...bothering you?”

Like a gun trigger, his voice snaps me out of my daze. All at once my face flushes red and I forget how my lungs are supposed to work.

“No, of course not,” I want to say.

Instead, I gawk at him like a breathless fish.

“Smooth, Cat…”

“That’s some expression you’re wearing,” he chuckles, wading out of the surf to stand next to me.

Placing his index finger under my chin, he guides my jaw up to close my mouth. His finger is only there for a moment, but the sensation of his touch lingers.

Blushing madly, I wish he can’t see my face. Unfortunately, his eyes lock with mine and I’m forced to notice the flecks of blues and greens that make his eyes the color of the sea.

He steps back and shoves his thumbs into his dark wetsuit shorts since he doesn’t have pockets and takes on a relaxed pose.

“Doesn’t he know what day it is?” I think, wondering how he could be so calm on the day of the Reaping.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“Enjoying the view~” I mentally kick the voice in my head. How embarrassing would it be if I actually said that?!

“N-Nothing, really, just trying to escape for a moment,” I answer, finding my voice.

“Funny; that’s why I’m here,” he replies, glancing at the shore.

Turning back to me he smiles warmly and my heart melts. 

It’s just him. No other boy can make me feel the way he does. I may never understand why my heart chose him, but it did. Panicking for a moment, I wonder if he can tell.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? No one out here but the sea and you. No one to ruin the tranquility,” he points out.

Flopping down on the sand, he looks up at me expectantly.

“Mind setting me up with a name?” he inquires.

“Huh? Oh! Um, it’s Catherine, but you can call me Cat,” I answer, tucking a stray curl behind my ear shyly.

He tilts his head and his eyes sparkle deviously.

“Well, Kitty, my name’s Reed, but you can call me Reed,” he announces with a playful jab.

“I-It’s not  Kitty , it’s Cat,” I correct him.

“Mrrrow~ Kitty is called Cat and she won’t have none of that,” he purrs.

“W-Why does he have to say it like that?! I don’t think I’d mind if he called me Kitty again if he rolls his ‘r’s like that again…” I think.

“C. A. T. Cat,” I state firmly.

“Fine,  Cat ,” he agrees finally.

He pats the space next to him. “Sit with me?”

Hesitantly, I fold my pale blue summer dress and kneel down beside him. Briefly, I recall how this dress once belonged to my late mother.

“I miss you more everyday, Mom.”

Reed notices the sad look on my face, for he’s suddenly squeezing my shoulder. Surprised, I turn to look at him and his grip loosens a notch.

“Hey, cheer up! It’s just another beautiful day, so let’s not waste it,” he urges, giving me a comforting smile.

I am not fooled. I know what today can mean for me…

“C-Cheer up? Today’s the  Reaping , so how can I be happy about the fact I can be one of those tributes being slaughtered in the arena?” I protest, my blue eyes searching.

“By pretending it isn’t. If you let your spirits fall today, the Capitol has already won,” he counters, his brow knitting together and his smile falling away.

He looks so somber I’m confused. Then he stands up and offers his hand to me.

“And on that note we must be getting back. You have to love the mandatory attendance of the Reaping, right?” He doesn’t sound amused.

Slowly, I lift my hand to place it in his palm. Smiling, his fingers curl around mine and he pulls me to my feet. I can already feel my face heating up again as I follow him back up the dirt path.

 

“Are you seriously going to wear  that to the Reaping?”

Reed turns his head and I faintly notice how his copper-bronze hair glows like it’s on fire in the bright sunlight. He glances down at his shorts and shrugs his broad-shoulders.

“Why not?” he answers.

I don’t answer, for we’ve arrived at the center of the three towns, putting Oceana behind us. Like robots preprogrammed to do this, we march over to our specified areas: I with other seventeen-year-old girls and Reed just to the left of me with other seventeen-year-old boys.

Our eyes meet and he winks at me. Spinning wildly away, I press my palms to my burning cheeks. I attempt to hide in the throng of girls.

District 4’s miniature Capitol building-(a.k.a. Hall of Lures)-towers in front of us. Pristine white pillars stand out against the overall sandy tones of the towns surrounding it.

The crowd falls quiet as a man with crazy pink hair steps out on the platform set up in front of the Hall of Lures. Recognizing that chirpy face beneath all that makeup is difficult.

“Why would a man paint himself up like a woman?” I wonder, shaking my head.

Yet we all know who he is. His name is Shirley Chambers and he’s the Capitol representative that’s been coming to District 4 for as long as I can remember.

“Today’s a special day boys and girls!” he announces, a tiny mic hovering over his glossy lips.

Some people groan as we prepare ourselves for another lecture about the cost of rebellion against the Capitol. I think someone falls asleep during it...standing up too.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s get to it, shall we?” His voice is obnoxiously light and shrill. He sounds like he whistles every letter.

The infamous rotating orbs that hold our names are pushed forward.

“It’s only good manners to let the ladies go first~” he chirps, rolling up his white sleeve to reach into the girl’s reaping ball.

I hug myself as I wait for him to read the name.

“It won’t be me. It won’t be me. It won’t be-”

“Catherine Simmons!” My heart drops like a rock tossed into the ocean.

For some reason, I look to Reed but I can’t find him anymore in the sea of boys.

Oddly, no one steps forward to volunteer to go in my stead. I heard District 4 is known as one of those districts that fights over who gets the honor to join the Games. Apparently, that's not the case today.

¨Of course they wouldn't; who'd want to save the outcast?"  I think miserably as the crowd parts for me to drag myself to the stage.

Each step tears a piece away from me until I feel hollow as I stand before the people of District 4. I scan their faces and see a range of emotions: anger, sorrow, pity, sympathy, and grief. My eyes move from young to old, but I know I won't find who I'm looking for.

I shove the memory of my parents from my mind. I can't let them down. I have to survive this and live, when they could not. Their lives were cut short, so I can't let mine be.

"On to the strapping young men!" Shirley's hand swiftly hooks a sliver of paper and pulls it out from the other ball.

Despite my own situation, I feel bad for the guy who has to go in with me.

Shirley unfolds the slip of paper and holds it up to read it.

"Reed Odair!" announces Shirley loudly.

My breath hitches in my throat.

"Not  him.  Anyone but him!" I think in despair as he slowly treks up onto stage.

Suddenly, a woman shrieks. 

Everyone's heads whip around to stare as a woman with wild, brown hair rushes forward only to be grabbed by a couple of Peacekeepers. She claws at them and struggles to reach Reed.

"REED!!" she cries out desperately.

"Mom? Mom!" gasps Reed, surging forward.

A Peacekeeper tries to grab him and Reed rams his elbow into his face. The man goes down and Reed runs off stage to his mother. More Peacekeepers materialize out of the crowd and catch Reed just before he can reach her.

Desperately, Reed and his mother stretch to grab each other's hands, but their fingers can't close the one-inch gap between them.

My hand goes to my mouth. I don't want to see this, yet I can't turn away.

"My baby! You can't take my baby! He's all I have left!" wails Reed's mother, Annie Cresta-(if I recall correctly).

The men holding her ignore her pleas. They work to start dragging her and Reed away from each other. At least three Peacekeepers are needed to hold onto Reed as he thrashes like a wild animal. He breaks an arm free and slams his fist into a Peacekeeper's jaw, knocking him back.

"Get your filthy hands off my mother!" he snarls, frustrated he's losing ground.

Annie is sobbing as they tear her away from her only child.

When his head whips around, something shiny appears on his cheek. Is...is he crying? No, just the corner of his eye is wet. He's not crying...but he's upset.

Unable to move, I stand frozen in place while they shove Reed back onto the stage. When the Peacekeepers release him, he jerks his arms free like he's shrugging off their unwanted touch. He balls his hands into fists as his mother's cries fade into the distance. His arm muscles bulge from the tension.

He looks terrifying and I'm glad he's not targeting me for his wrath.

"Here they are! District 4's tributes for the 92nd annual Hunger Games: Reed Odair and Catherine Simmons!" declares Shirley, his sparkling coat swinging out as he gestures to us, "As always, let the odds be ever in their favor~"


	4. District 3's Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it legal to send an unborn tribute into the Games? Now, that's messed up...
> 
> "Being a young mom means I get to meet you a little early, but I get to love you a little longer."

* * *

 

"Pixo, please help me fold these!"

Groaning, I set down my TechMaster magazine. It's an old issue, but I still enjoy reading it. Mainly because I can understand where my peers cannot. It's like it's chosen only me to trust with its secrets of electronegativity and plasma beams.

I walk into my mothers' bedroom down the hall. Yes, my mothers'-as in: more than one. Problem? I didn't think so.

Like a drone, I put my arms out and my dark-haired mother, Rebecca Heart, places a pile of shirts and pants in them. In precise and smooth movements, I fold each shirt the same way: tuck in the sleeves, fold in half, and smooth out the collar. In a few minutes, I'm done and I set the stack on my mothers' bed.

Wrinkles crease around her eyes as she smiles. She's starting to show her age at forty-four, yet maintains a classic beauty nonetheless.

"Thank you, Pixo."

I nod and turn to leave, only to bump into my other mother, Rhonda Rixen. Stepping back, I notice she has her hands on her hips.

"Why aren't you ready yet, Pixo?! We all have to look our best today and I'm not letting you wear  that !" she scoffs.

I grunt, not bothering to inspect my attire, for I am wearing my sleepwear-baggy pants and an oversized T-shirt.

"Why should I concern myself with such trivial matters as what style I adorn?" I ask, uninterested.

"Oh, but I washed your nice clothes for you to wear today, Pixo," replies my mom, Rebecca, disappointed.

"You're too easy on him, Rebecca," complains my mother, Rhonda, shaking her head.

Walking over to their tiny closet, my mother somehow manages to find said outfit and pull it out for all to sea.

My eyes widen in horror.

“I am most certainly not wearing that!” I gasp.

“But isn’t it lovely, Pixo? I saved up to buy it directly from District 8. You’ll be unique wearing it as it is one-of-a-kind,” chirps my mom, Rebecca.

“Yes... very unique…” I mumble.

From first glance, I could tell it is skillfully well-crafted: neat, nearly invisible stitchings and torso and sleeves are proportionate in the suit. It’s only to be expected of the people in the Textile district.

Yet, that does  not mean I like it in the slightest. The color is-in my opinion-an ugly shade: the same color as the dust that builds on my windowsill. Darker, thin stripes flow horizontally and I find them an eye strain. The coat’s cuffs are decorated with two silver buttons with the markings of the District 3 seal: a factory resting on three gears.The pants match the coat and there’s a simple white dress shirt to wear underneath the coat.

“I absolutely  refuse to wear this!” I state firmly.

“If you won’t dress yourself, then I’ll just do it,” growls my mother, suddenly grabbing me and flinging her over her shoulder.

I am skinny and might be as light as a feather, but my mother still has to be strong to carry me at this age. I mean, no fifteen-year-old boy is going to compare to a small child. 

Oddly, my mother isn’t stocky, she’s a shade huskier than my mom, Rebecca, in her slim frailty.

“P-Put me down! This is humiliating!” I demand, annoyed with how whiny I sound.

Setting me down in my room, she tosses my new outfit onto my bed.

“By the time your mom and I are dressed and I come to check on you, you  better be dressed, Pixo, or so help me I will shove you into that suit myself!” she threatens before shutting the door behind her.

Yep, this is normal. My mom, Rebecca, is the sweet, gentle one and my mother, Rhonda, is the tougher, no nonsense one. I believe there’s an expression for this...good cop, bad cop? That seems appropriate….whatever a cop is…

Dragging my bare feet to the bed, I pick up the suit with a disgusted frown. Of all the things she could have had made for me, she had to pick a suit? No one wears these ugly things anymore!

I sigh.

“Maybe that’s why she could afford having it custom-made for me: she picked a style that’s no longer in use,” I think.

Now, I am proficient in mathematics, technical engineering, and computers. I should never be underestimated, for intelligence  always beats brawn. I can solve a crossword puzzle in binary code-the simple number language of computers. Heck, I can code every letter in Javascript!

Yet, for the life of me, I cannot figure out how to put on a freakin’  suit ?!

“Do I need it to scan my fingerprint or something, for the jacket to open?!” I wonder, frustrated.

Irritated, I toss the coat aside and try the pants next with more success. I squirm into the dress shirt and smooth out the wrinkles I create in my struggle. Then I attempt to tackle the coat again….and again….and  what the heck is wrong with this thing?!

In the end, my mom had to step in and undo the two layers of buttons-which is where my problem was-slip the jacket on me, and redo the buttons.

“Now...how does that feel?” she asks in her naturally-soft voice.

“Like I can’t breathe,” I complain while trying to expand my chest against the form-fitting coat to take in air.

“Suck it up, Pixo. Unless you start turning black and blue, you’re wearing it,” declares my mother, her arms crossed, “Now let’s go. We’re late enough as it is.”

 

Stepping outside, my ears are assaulted with the insistent noise of grinding gears and active factories. Billows of smoke and steam rise all over Grindstone Town-the largest town in District 3.

As we walk past one particular factory with its shipments’ door open, I can hear the angry hiss of welding. Sparks fly as a man with a blast shield over his face pounds the hot metal that will soon form the basis of a computer motherboard. A ashen-gray woman next to him is the one wielding the blowtorch as she cuts out the frame for a leg of the infamous Enforcer.

Enforcers are mean machines. No one is sure if anyone actually mans them or if they contain robotic brains, programmed to do the Capitol’s bidding. 

Each Enforcer balances on two hydraulic legs to support what can only best be described as a crab’s body. They’ve advanced since the first, bulky, awkwardly-moving, prototypes used to kill off the rebellion. They no longer use the taller, rounder bodies that gave them an avion appearance.

For intimidation and lethal purposes, two huge guns are mounted on the sides like pincers and a long turret extends from the middle, kind of like a beak.

I know all this from living all my life in District 3. Being the center of electronics, the Enforcers are usually sent here with parts from Districts 2, 5, and 6 to be finished. Our district is the one that basically glues the puzzle pieces together and sets up targeting systems and software. After that, they’re sent back to the Capitol to act out the will of the President.

“Maybe we could leave and-”

“We can’t leave, Alice. There’s the force field keeping us here, remember?”

“I know...but what if we found a gap or broke one of the towers?”

“Then there’s still cameras everywhere, so  they’ll  know.”

We’re walking past a man sweeping his shop’s stoop, when I hear the voices. To my right, I find a young couple sitting on a stone bench. Both appear to be not much older than myself.

The young woman leans against her beau with his arm draped around her shoulders. Her hair weaves itself into a neat braid down the back of her neck and pushed in front of her shoulder.

Her companion’s dark, curly hair is resistant to the strong breeze that blows through town. His equally-dark eyes dart up to mine for a second before looking away.

“I’m just so scared, Benjy...I mean, what if you get reaped today?” frets the girl-(Alice, was it?)

“I know you are, Alice,” he replies, kissing her forehead, “But I won’t. The odds would never be that cruel.”

I don’t get to see what happens next-nor do I want to-because we’re approaching the center of District 3. The air feels like it drops twenty degrees because the heat of the forges and factorylines are now behind us. Many of the district’s children are already in their allotted spots.

“Ugh, I told you we were going to be late,” complains my mother to my mom.

Rebecca smiles apologetically at her before turning to me. She doesn’t have to bend down to hug me, for we’re about the same height. Her arms wrap around me and she holds me so tight that it worries me.

“It’s just another Reaping. It’ll be like the previous years: I won’t be reaped….won’t I?” A flicker of doubt crosses my mind.

“Your mother and I love you, Pixo. Always remember that,” she whispers into my ear and I hear her voice waver.

She tucks a strand of my ebony hair behind my ear and plants a quick kiss on my cheek-(which I quickly rub off).

I swallow almost nervously as she pulls away. On the outside, I appear bored and calm. On-the-other-hand, I’m a ball of knots on the inside.

“Why is Mom so terrified this year?” I wonder with a puzzled knitting of the brow.

Wandering over to the other boys my age, I suddenly have the urge to rip off this suit. None of the others are dressed like me; some are even in casual attire.

Without warning, someone bumps my shoulder and I stumble forward a step to catch myself. Shooting a glare their way, I recognize the older guy from the edge of Grindestone.

Benjy-(what kind of name is that?)-moves to join the group of seventeen-year-olds. 

Briefly, I wonder if his girlfriend will show up soon too.

As we wait for the opening announcement, I squint at the boy’s head in front of me. 

“Curse this bright sunlight and my sensitive blue eyes!” I growl mentally.

Finally, the curly, brass horns let out a low moan before diving into the National Anthem of Panem. Their sound is amplified, so it can reach even the twelve-year-olds in the way back from the Hall of Aptitude-the white-pillared, central structure.

As the anthem fades out, a woman in a gray pencil skirt and matching blouse struts out onto the open platform. Her auburn hair is graying and is forced to endure an impenetrable bun.

I swear her hair is so neat that I won’t be surprised if she calculated and plotted out each precise location of every strand.

Pale, hawk-like eyes rake the crowd as thick, red glasses rest upon her beak-like nose. Her lips purse in satisfaction. She doesn’t even try to hide the fact she hates every single one of us. It makes me wonder why she is continuously assigned to District 3 every year.

“I hope every one of you whelps can learn to appreciate the mercy the Capitol shows you, for they only kill  two of you every year.” See? Isn’t she such a charmer? “And just so none of you get any ideas about  rebelling , let’s review~”

I want to mentally smash my head into a brick wall as she unrolls a huge scroll and begins to read about the cost of rebellion and blah, blah, blah.

“Gah! We’re the district of  electronics for crying out loud! How old is that piece of paper?!” I groan mentally.

I’m just about to ask the ‘Beefhead’ next to me to punch me, so I don’t have to listen to her rant any longer, when she tapers off her last sentence. Instead, I’m left with a migraine which I try to massage out of my temples.

“Let’s see which one of you I can finally be rid off first,” she smiles wickedly while her hand dives into the boys’ orb first.

Yanking out the small slip of paper, she unrolls it and tosses away the thin string.

“Pixo Rixen-Heart!” she announces.

Blood freezing in my veins, I pale visibly.

“How can this be…? I’ve calculated my odds several times, but it always came out to less than two percent!”  My brain races to process this unforeseen result.

I’m so stunned that I suddenly find myself on stage without remembering ever walking up there. Faintly, I wonder how my mothers are taking the news.

“Alice Pascal!”

“Wait...she already picked from the girls’ reaping ball?” I think, confused.

Only when the young woman from before leaves the crowd, do I recognize the name. Her face is one of pure panic and her bright eyes dart about wildly. Searching for help, she receives none which isn’t surprising; no one  wants to be in the games except for the nutjobs in Districts 1, 2, and 4.

“Alice!” calls Benjy, his hand reaching for hers as he leans across the rope sectioning his age-group off from the others.

She rushes into his arms and breaks out into strangled sobs. He wraps his arms around her and nuzzles her hair as he murmurs something in her ear. They remain like that for one minute...two….neither one wanting to pull away because it could be the last time they can feel the warmth of the other’s touch.

When a Peacekeeper taps on her shoulder, Alice cries harder. 

I’ll admit it: I feel bad for her. No one that close can separate easily. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be ripped away from the one you love.

Nevertheless, I wish she’d hurry up and get over here. The sooner she accepts her fate, the better off she’ll be.

Beneath the white helmet, I spot a pitying shine to the Peacekeeper’s eyes as she gently peels Alice’s fingers off of Benjy’s arms.

“Benjy….Benjy! BENJY!!” cries Alice, her voice growing more desperate and shrill as the Peacekeeper herds her toward the stage.

“Alice!” moans Benjy, his own face a reflection of hers, except without the shininess of tears down his face.

When she finally reaches the stage, she collapses to her knees. She hunches over with her hands on her stomach.

My blue eyes widen.

“You….y-you’re pregnant…” I gasp, shocked.

Slowly, she looks up at me with round eyes the color of cool water. Tears stain her cheeks and her eyes are puffy and bloodshot. Sniffing loudly, she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m over eight months…” she admits through a sob.

“This isn’t right. Technically, they’re sending  three tributes from District 3.”

I can’t stop staring at her round belly.

“There’s no way they’re going to let her go into the arena.”

The District 3 representative, Quincilla Nobaroo, eyes Alice with disgust. The poor girl’s condition appalls her. Frowning, Quincilla turns back to the crowd.

“Oh, joy~ These are your tributes District 3: Pixo Rixen-Heart, 15, and Alice Pascal, 16!” she announces, “Wish them a quick death.”

On her knees, Alice cries into her hands. They’re not going to let her stay. They’re going to send her and her unborn child to die anyway.

Yet all I can think about is:

“...I love you too Mom.”


	5. District 1: Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even after his death, Finnick Odair is still inspiring others. Can Helion match Finnick's prowess in the Arena? Will Diamond shine the brightest of them all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "There have been times where someone tells me I can't do something. I simply say: "Watch Me." "

_Whoosh._

The blade embeds itself in the practice dummy right in its straw heart.

With a flick of my wrist, another knife whistles through the air at my target. I smile; another kill shot.

 _“Of course a Diamond is always flawless~”_ a voice purrs in my head.

Smirking, I weave three knives in between my fingers of my right hand. With practiced poise, I let all three loose at once.

They don’t get stuck in the dummy. Instead, they slice apart its potato sack skin as they pass.

Now I’m just playing with it.

“Diamond...what are you doing?” I groan at the voice.

_“What are those two doing up so early?”_

Spinning on my heel, I pretend to fire my last knife at the twins. One of them squeals in surprise. I lower my arm and laugh.

“T-That’s not funny, Diamond! You could have hurt Ruby!” whines the tiny red-haired girl.

“Did you really think I would actually throw one at you girls?” I ask, calming down from my laughing fit.

Emerald-the one who spoke-stomps her foot because she’s annoyed with me.

“I’m going to tell Daddy!” she threatens.

I roll my eyes and yawn.

“Go ahead. We’ll see what happens,” I reply, not frightened by her threat in the slightest.

Grabbing a shaking Ruby’s hand, Emerald pulls her twin back inside. Both girls’ wavy red hair ripples like hot metal down their backs as they move.

A moment later, they return dragging our middle-aged father between them. He runs a hairy hand through his reddish-brown hair tiredly.

“Diamond tried to kill us!” blurts out Emerald, hopping up and down for emphasis.

Examining my nails, I’m already bored. I’ve done this to them countless of times and it always bears the same result.

 _“I’ve never actually thrown the knife at them, so why do they keep running to Father like this all the time? Probably want attention or something,”_ I think, shaking my head.

Father kneels down to the twins’ level.

“Ruby, Emerald,” Father takes a moment to look both in their dark green eyes, “Your sister is practicing out here, which means….?”

His bright eyes turn to Ruby expectantly. She shuffles her feet absent-mindedly, scuffing the shine.

“We aren’t out here,” she finally mumbles in answer.

“Because if you are…” Now it’s Emerald’s turn.

“We might accidentally become targets,” mutters Emerald, crossing her thin arms, “But-”

Father fixes Emerald with a stern look and her words catch in her throat. He gives them a light push back to the house, following shortly after. Before he goes in, he glances over his shoulder and gives me a warm smile. Then he disappears into the gloom.

I smile lightly. Father always had my back: he made sure I am safe and happy. If I want something, he’ll get me it, no questions asked. To put it simply: he spoils me without limits. I’m not going to try and defend myself by claiming I don’t take advantage of his inability to say no to me. However, my love for my father is genuine, so whoever said love can’t be bought is an idiot.

The sun creeps across the sky like it wants to keep sending its rays straight into my blue eyes.

 _“How am I supposed to aim properly if I can’t see?!”_ I growl mentally, frustrated.

A warm breeze caress my smooth skin. On it I can pick up the scent of roasting meat. Someone is cooking a fine pound of beef somewhere nearby. It makes my mouth water and I have to fight to refrain from drooling like a fool.

 _“Are you an animal or a proper lady, Diamond?!”_ a voice scolds in my head.

 _“Where does a natural-born predator ly?”_ I ask it.

Ignoring its response, I line up my sights with the dummy again. I’ve picked up another knife and it shines brilliantly in the sunlight. It appears to be on fire in my hand.

Sensing a presence behind me, I lower my arm and look over my shoulder to see my mother standing in the doorway. She leans against the doorframe with her arms crossed. I know she’s not keen about my practicing of knife throwing or my Career training. I’ve tried to argue with her about how her siblings were tributes in the Games _twice_ and it’s only natural for me to want to rise to their rank. Of course she wouldn’t listen.

“Put down the knife and come eat dinner,” she orders with that familiar strict tone.

I tighten my grip on the handle.

“Why do you have such a problem with what I like to do?” I demand, not looking at her with our matching blue eyes.

Eyebrow raised, my mother, Ribbon, doesn’t budge.

“Cashmere and Gloss won their games because they trained!” I point out.

“And they _died_ in their second for doing the same thing,” counters my mother.

I wring the handle of my knife like it’s someone’s neck.

 _“But I only have to win one Game and I’ll be set for life,”_ I think bitterly.

Grass tickles expose ankles and makes them itch. The sensation only adds to my irritation.

“Give me a minute,” I say through clenched teeth.

I stare at her back as she returns to the kitchen.

My mother, Ribbon, had the ultimate brother-sister combo as siblings, yet she steers away from anything involving weapons or the Games. One would think that as Cashmere and Gloss’ younger sister, she would have aspired to be like them. Nope! All I get is an overly-strict mother who is only happy, when I’m cooking or cleaning like a good girl and future wife.

I gag.

 _“Why would I want to get married already?! I’m only_ eighteen _, not thirty!”_ I think in disdain.

But my mother has secretly been hoping I will stumble upon that lucky guy who will win my heart and we’ll fall in love and all that fluff.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mom, but I’m not that kind of girl,” I mutter under my breath.

Leaves rustle and a few ride the wind down from the huge Oak tree behind our house.

Getting an idea, I swing my arm out.

Before it can reach the dark grass, the leaf breaks into two even halves. The pieces separate on the breeze.

Satisfied, I smirk and turn to go inside through the mahogany sliding door.

 

“Okay, I’m heading out!” I call as I leave our pale blue house and to annoy my mother, I add, “I hope I get reaped today~”

Her words are muffled by the front door swinging closed. However, it’s not hard to tell she is angry.

    _“She needs to relax. I can easily win the Games, but I probably won’t be picked this year either,”_ I think, confident in my chances.

    The paved streets of Shimmer Town are without potholes or cracks. Unlike other districts, District 1 can afford to maintain itself to the highest standard. You don’t sell valuable gems and minerals and the finest-crafted products without making a decent profit.

    _Click, Click, Click._

My heels connect with the road and-while others might find it annoying-I find the sound calming. I am wearing my favorite ankle boots today-(having switched out of my old sneakers). A dark brown jacket only reaches past my chest. I adjust the sleeves to fit more comfortably. The jacket layers over a scarlett, sleeveless, corset top. It isn’t like what you’d imagine: the top flows a little more freely than the tightly-wrapped, classic corset and doesn’t have lace in the back. I like to look good, not suffocate.

    Turning down the main road, I can already see the Capitol building located at the center of District 1. Ours is called the Hall of Perfection because our district holds to the highest standards set by the Capitol itself. Its name is both an honor and a curse.

    Not everyone in District 1 is born beautiful, smart, or powerful…

    I shudder to think about the poor souls who are born with deformities or fail a class in school.

    Here’s something you’d never know about District 1: perfection is the _only_ thing allowed here. Other Districts describe us as “classically beautiful” and “cut-throat sharp in the mind” because that’s all they get to see. No one outside of District 1 has to watch their neighbor’s newborn torn from their hands to have its throat slit by the ever cruel Peacekeepers. Why did that happen? Oh, nothing much...their baby just had an undersized arm because of a nutrient deficiency in the womb. Yeah...so you see? You’re either born beautiful or you die ugly. You’re either exceptional in the mind or you receive a bullet to the brain.

    But that’s just the cruel world we live in, isn’t it?

    I’m so infused in my thoughts that I don’t notice the footsteps thundering closer from behind.

    “Hey Blondie! Move unless you want a shoe to the face!”

    Spinning around, I am met with a boy flying through the air on a direct course with me. I don’t move right away, which earns me the lovely greeting his foot gives my face as he uses me like a springboard to reach the roof of the building to my right.

    Knocking me flat on my rear, my nose throbs painfully. Blue eyes burning hot with rage, I watch him grab the edge of the shingles and pull himself up.

    “You little brat!” I snarl at him causing him to look back at me with hazel eyes.

    “Funny, I could say the same thing about you,” he snorts.

    _“Why you little snot!”_ Reaching into my back pocket, I’m about to pull out one of my knives, when-

    “There he is! Get ‘em!”

    A gang of Peacekeepers race past me and my hand drifts away from my knife.

    _“Easy, Diamond. Best not to get involved if the playground monitors are already…”_ I warn myself, inhaling deeply and letting out my anger with my warm breath.

    “S***!” curses the boy as he trips on the sun-bleached shingles.

    Lucky for him, he manages to regain his balance before he falls directly into the white-gloved hands of the Peacekeepers. His worn sneakers pound the roof as he darts like a mad hare over it.

    I raise an eyebrow curiously. He’s fast. So fast, in fact, even I am having trouble tracking him.

    The Peacekeepers try to keep pace below.

    When he reaches the edge of the roof, he doesn’t slow down; he keeps on running. He runs right off the edge and appears to fall to his death.

    _“Good riddance,”_ I think with contempt.

    Skidding around the corner, the Peacekeepers leave my line of sight.

    Wiping away the dirt from the brat’s shoe, I hope it didn’t leave a mark. The last thing I need is a shoe print down my face. Ugh, I think I smell the old rubber of his soles.

    (To my disappointment), the Peacekeepers drag the boy out by his gray shirt, nearly yanking it off of him in the process. They toss him into the street after fishing something out of his pocket.

    “Hey, that’s mine!” he snaps, grabbing at the large orb in the man’s hand.

    Another Peacekeeper swats the boy’s hand away. “This is the Iridium Stone: a one-of-a-kind gem and _property_ of the Relics Museum!”

    Giving the man the evil eye, the boy suddenly smirks. He circles the Peacekeeper, who eyes him suspiciously. Moving like a predator getting ready for the kill, his fingers twitch at his side. Abruptly, he darts in close and moves right back from the man. His hands never appear to leave his side.

    However, the man looks at his hand and his gaze turns into one of disbelief.

    “Wha-?”

    The boy is already sprinting down the street, the stolen gem raised high in the air.

    “Looks like I win again!” he laughs while the Peacekeepers take off after him.

    “You rotten little...GET BACK HERE!!” snarls the lead Peacekeeper.

    Realizing I’ve wasted too much time on ‘Mr.Thief’, I get my feet back on track. The Reaping is today and I’ll be d***ed if I’m late on this oh-so-special day.

    Unfortunately, I only make it halfway down the main road, when another boy brushes past me. Muttering curses at him, I follow him with my eyes as he stops and bends over to catch his breath. It takes me a moment to notice he’s talking to something in the shadows.

    “I….really wish….you...wouldn’t….pull stunts like this...Helion,” gasps the newcomer breathlessly, his hands on his knees.

    “Oh, come on, Rich! Just because you never do anything fun doesn’t mean I can’t,” replies the boy lurking in the shadows.

    The sun catches his hazel eyes for a split second and I instantly know who he is. His dark, curly hair blends in perfectly with the gloom of the alley. His friend has more of a deep brown.

    _Zzzing!_

    The boys jump in surprise. Rich moves to the wall by his friend’s head to study the blade. Helion simply gawks at the knife and tentatively touches the side of his head where I gave him a little ‘trim’.

    I snicker and they finally notice me.

    “You should be more careful who you step on next time~” I point out, twirling a lock of my blonde hair around my finger, “Or I won’t be with my knife.”

    Yanking my knife out of the stone wall, Helion takes on a more serious expression. His eyes glow dangerously.

    “Don’t you _ever_ threaten me or my friend!” he snarls, adjusting the weapon in his hand.

    “ _Jinx_ , just ignore her. We have bigger problems to worry about,” urges Rich, his tone even and calm like a gentle stream.

    It is nothing like the raging fire that Helion hisses out with every word.

    I can’t say I’m entirely surprised that he sends my own knife cutting through the still air back at me.

He’s nimble with his fingers, so why can’t he be able to toss a light-weight knife around?

Lucky for me, I know how to catch knives just as well as I can throw them. Clapping my hands together, I sandwich the blade between my palms, effectively stopping it mid flight.

Helion looks surprised before he quickly masks it. In fact, all emotion seems to drop from his features. Standing straighter, he nudges Rich’s arm with his elbow.

“Let’s go. I’m done with this chick,” growls Helion, his eyes boring into mine before turning to his friend.

Grabbing his friend, Helion pulls him towards the Hall of Perfection at the end of the road. I raise an eyebrow at the sight of Helion’s hand on Rich’s. Apparently, it puzzles Rich too because he stares down at their hands. Helion himself is the last to notice, but when he does the corner of his mouth twitches in the makings of a grimace. Quickly, he recoils his hand and shoves Rich in front of him to keep him walking.

“Idiots,” I mumble, following at a distance.

 

As I walk into District 1’s central plaza, I’m greeted by the sight of familiar faces.

“Diamond?”

“Hey, Diamond, over here!”

“Looking good princess~”

“How are you doing, Diamond? You certainly haven’t lost your sparkle~” giggles one of my friends, Glitter, a short girl standing with the other sixteen-year-olds.

Smiling endearingly, I enter my circle of friends: Glitter to my right and a long-legged brunette-Fushia-on my left and girls leading off of them. I feel more at home as we connect hands loosely. Surrounded by good friends is a great feeling; it eases the tension of this morning’s stress. It also reminds me that even among all these gorgeous people, I am one of the most attractive.

 _“The Capitol can’t touch this perfection~”_ I think proudly.

As we wait for the Reaping to start, we chit-chat to catch up on recent events: Fushia complains about her new hairstyle, Glitter rambles on about her latest date with her boyfriend, and I mention my run-in with Helion.

The girls’ eyes widen and they close the circle on me.

“Really? You met the young master thief?!” gasps Glitter.

“I heard his father is in prison for being a rotten crook!” interjects another girl.

“Wasn’t his mother the one who tried to escape on the Tribute Train?” wonders Fushia out loud.

“I heard he sneaks into girls’ houses and steals their underwear!” blurts out Glitter.

The girls gasp in horror.

“Oh yeah? I heard he stole the watch right off of the head Peacekeeper!”

“He stole my puppy last week!”

“I remember a guy reached into my back pocket and felt me up...I bet it was _him_!”

Most of the girls are on the edge of panic as they cast nervous glances over at the boys across from us.

I, on-the-other-hand, roll my eyes. Now they are just getting ridiculous. I highly doubt Helion did-let alone is capable of-all the nonsense they’re sprouting.

I’m nearly blasted off my feet, when the anthem erupts from the Hall of Perfection. In a frenzy, my friends run around trying to find their respective places. Shifting my hair over my shoulder, I strut right up front to join the other eighteen-year-old girls.

In lacy stilettos, a woman sashays onto the stage. Her sparkling green dress accentuates her shapely curves and shows off her left leg. Silky orange hair flows down her back like a waterfall. With great beauty and grace she takes center stage.

I overhear the girls around me gossiping about the woman who stands before us as several boys let out wolf whistles.

“Looks like Juliet Purene is representing District 1 again.”

“Why do they always send _her_? I feel ugly compared to _that_!”

“Stupid boys! Why can’t they stop drooling over her?!”

Curiously, I look over and find the boys are all but actually salivating over Juliet’s figure. Every one of them looks entranced by her stunning beauty.

 _“There’s probably not a single part of her that isn’t fake,”_ I think, annoyed.

Through the annual lecture about rebellion and the formal greeting, the testosterone-filled half of the crowd hangs on Juliet’s every word. It doesn’t help that she speaks in that sly tongue of hers. I swear she’s purposely drawing out words in a seductive purr.

Meanwhile, several girls want to claw her eyes out and punch their boyfriends for their “act of treason.”

“Now, how about you boys? Who is going to be the lucky young man?” That sets them off, for the boys are now fighting over who is going to be reaped like it means a date with Juliet and not a death sentence.

I huff and cross my arms while Juliet reads from the slip of paper.

“Platinum Richardson!” she calls out.

Before the guy can even leave his section, a dark-haired boy races out into the open.

“I volunteer!”

I stare dumbfounded before narrowing my eyes to icy slits.

“Well, well. Then come up here young man~” Juliet gestures for Helion to join her on stage which earns him the murderous glares of the entire male population except for Rich-who just waves at him and smiles encouragingly.

Bounding up the steps, Helion seems to be the only one not under her spell. Heck, he’s so uninterested I wonder if he’s sleepwalking.

“What is your name?” asks Juliet, her mascara and purple eyeshadow making her pale eyes pop.

“Helion. Helion Javis,” answers the black-haired boy, his head giving off a faint blue shine in the sunlight.

“You look fairly young...how old are you?” she inquires, plum-colored lips pursed.

“Fourteen and old enough to win,” he answers smugly.

Resting a hand against her rosy cheeks, Juliet smiles at him and at the crowd.

“Someone sure sounds confident~ Why did you volunteer, Helion?” she questions curiously.

“I heard that Finnick Odair won his first Game at the same age I am now. So what’s stopping me from doing the same? Just the silver reject back there,” explains Helion, jerking his thumb at Platinum Richardson who isn’t amused.

The mention of the handsome District 4 victor stirs up old debates amongst the District 1 children. Many people are divided over the matter of whether Finnick was a victim of the Mockingjay’s manipulation or truly shared her radical ideals.

I tap my foot impatiently.

“Does anyone else want to volunteer?” Juliet asks her audience.

Several boys steps forward. We _are_ one of the Career districts. However, Helion is quick to shoot down their arguments for tribute and settles as top choice. In the end, Helios Javis remains as District 1’s male tribute for this year’s Games.

“Let’s not keep the ladies waiting any longer.”

Juliet moves to the girls’ reaping ball.

“Diamond Hill!” she announces.

I suddenly find it hard to swallow. Yes, I train every day in case one year I am chosen as tribute, but I honestly never expected it to _actually happen._

Still, I hold my head up high as I march up to the stage and stand on the other side of Juliet from Helion. Someone snorts loudly and my attention goes to find Glitter crying onto Fushia’s shoulder as the taller girl pats her back comfortingly.

 _“Those girls...what will they do without me?”_ I wonder.

“Here are the stars of the show, District 1: Helion Javis, 14, and Diamond Hill, 18!” boasts Juliet, gesturing with a sweep of her arm to us.

I give Helion a side-long glance and find he’s just as annoyed to be my fellow tribute as I am his.

_“Let the Games begin and we’ll see who is faster…”_


	6. District 6: Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he's even reaped into the Games, Kaiden knows he'll soon be dead. Somehow he maintains his will to fight, if only for those he holds dear. But how much longer can he fight?  
> Spinelli has found a way to support her large family: gambling. She knows how to win big. Then again, the stakes in the Games only get higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Someone told me that winning isn't everything. Obviously, they've never had cancer."
> 
> "Beautiful people are not born. They are created, when someone has known defeat, struggle, loss, and suffering, yet can still find the will to dig themselves out. They have a greater understanding, awareness, and appreciation of life itself, that fills them to the brim with a special gentleness and empathy that can be formed in no other way."

_Cha-chick. Cha-chick. Cha-chick._

Vibrations rock the support beam I lay on. The freight train roars past above me. Stubbornly, I keep my eye shut and try to fall back asleep.

_“Just ignore it Kaiden.”_

_Cha-chick. Cha-chick._

Groaning, I drape my arm over my face. When that fails, I roll over and bury my face into my musky-smelling sleeping bag. I cover my ears. I nearly suffocate myself with the fabric. Eventually, I give up on sleep and roll back onto my back.

My eye peels open and I glare up at the tracks as the last train car rides over them. I lay there like that for a while: staring straight ahead but not really seeing. I’m too focused on other thoughts to concern myself with the same scene that I see every morning.

I let out a long, drawn-out sigh. Breathing in, I inhale some of the dust flying through the air causing my throat to become itchy and dry. Sitting up, I shiver as the breeze touches my warmer skin now that it’s exposed without my sleeping bag. I run a hand through my ivory hair. Swinging my pale legs out, I reach for my black shirt.

Holding it up, I notice that it’s more of a coal-gray from fading. I also discover some pesky moths have gotten to it in the middle of the night because my fingers find a small hole. I put my arms into the long sleeves and pull it over my head.

Once I’m dressed, I look out at the thin trail leading to my camp.

Two kids-a boy and girl-skip down the rocky path, kicking up a cloud of dirt in their wake. The boy’s hair is a sandy-orange while his older sister’s is a dark chestnut. Both share blue eyes, but the boy’s is much paler, bordering on white.

They pause near the underpass and the girl looks up and stares directly at me. Her face breaks out into a delighted smile and she waves at me.

Hesitantly, I wave back.

Tugging her younger brother along, the girl dips under the raised tracks and squeezes through the archway made by the iron support beams. They now stand in my little piece of the world.

Leaning forward, I let myself slide off the edge to land on my feet from a height nearly as tall as me: six feet.

“Hiya Kaiden!” chirps the girl, beaming up at me with her dark blue eyes.

“Bayleaf.” I look from the girl to the boy peeking out shyly from behind her. “Kestrel.”

Bayleaf nudges her brother to the front of her. She rests her hands on his shoulders. Even though they’re only two years apart, Bayleaf is a good foot taller than her brother. She claims it’s because Kestrel hasn’t really started growing yet, for he’s only twelve.

“You two shouldn’t be here right now. You know what day it is,” I point out, looking more at Bayleaf than Kestrel.

Bayleaf rocks from side-to-side on her feet. Her bright smile never leaves her face. Acting like she has a secret, she pokes my arm-which is almost as thick as her head.

“But we always come visit our favorite hermit in the whole wide world!” she teases playfully, “We never miss a day, remember?”

Lightly, she punches my arm-or what I think is lightly because with her tiny stature I can’t really tell. She waits a moment before punching me again….and again….Soon, she’s boxing with my arm, hopping from foot-to-foot.

Slowly, the corners of my mouth twitch up into a smile.

_“Bayleaf...you always know how to brighten my day~”_ I think fondly.

Sticking out her tongue like it helps her concentrate, Bayleaf pounds me one more time before doing a victory lap around the tiny space.

“And the crowd goes wild! Raaaaah!” she calls out triumphantly, adding in what she thinks the _crowd_ sounds like, “Bayleaf Robindale is the champion for the third year in a row!”

Kestrel sits down on the half of the ancient couch that still has a cushion. His pale eyes look around but don’t really take in his surroundings.

See, Kestrel is close to being fully and utterly blind. He began losing his sight at the age of two due to a parasite. The parasite left a disgusting amount of bacteria that grew into a nasty infection. It all started out so mildly that he and his sister never noticed the subtle differences until Kestrel fell ill with a raging fever. He recovered from his illness and is, today, parasite-free. Unfortunately, the damage has been done and continues to mount with each passing day.

Due to his loss of sight, he clings more and more to his sister. Sometimes he suffers from anxiety attacks if he can’t reach out to touch her because she’s too far away. I’m the only other person in all of District 6 that he likes, let alone, trusts. Maybe it’s because we both have sight problems: bandages cover a majority of the left side of my face, so I can’t exactly use my left eye….if I still had it…

“Oh! Right! I got something for you, Kaiden~” gasps Bayleaf, slipping off her satchel to rummage through its contents.

“Bayleaf...you needn’t-” I start before she shoves something warm into my hands.

Carefully, I unwrap the light green cloth and stare at the half-loaf of bread.

“Breakfast, Kaiden, eat up!” chirps Bayleaf, plopping down beside her brother and causing him to be launched a foot in the air.

He comes crashing down next to her, giggling uncontrollably.

Giving Bayleaf a look, I try to give the bread back to her.

“Bay...I can’t accept this. You two need it more,” I insist, feeling greedy if I ate their meager rations.

Snorting, Bayleaf tests the springs of the couch and jumps on it. Her chestnut hair lags behind her on the way up and on the way down.

“Nah-uh, that’s _yours_ , Kaiden. Today only happens once a year, so we can afford to do stuff we don’t normally do,” counters Bayleaf firmly, “Besides, have you seen yourself lately? You’re huge! Like, _this big!_ ”

Bayleaf’s arms swing wide on her next bounce.

With a chuckle, I walk over and ruffle her hair affectionately. She stops bouncing and pouts at how I’ve messed up her hair.

“I spent all morning brushing my hair!” she complains.

Sensing what is coming, Kestrel hopes off and Bayleaf piledrives the ‘vomit green’ cushion. Wrestling with it, she lets out a squeak, when she falls off the couch.

_“Hehe, she’s adorable~”_ I think, amused, covering my grin with my hand.

A familiar tickle begins to creep up my throat and my smile falls away. I set the bread down on a horizontal beam. Each step sparks another jolt of pain in my chest. My lungs feel swollen and I’m starting to find it hard to breathe.

Bayleaf stops tickling Kestrel’s naked feet to look at me. Her dark eyes grow round with worry.

“Kaiden? What’s wrong?” she asks.

I stumble towards the archway.

_“Don’t let them see. They can’t know.”_

When the first coughing fit erupts, I nearly collapse to my knees. I grab onto a beam to hold myself up with one hand and cover my mouth with the other.

“Kaiden! Tell me what’s wrong,” urges Bayleaf, her voice cracking anxiously.

A hand brushes my shoulder and I jerk away. Startled, Bayleaf recoils her arm.

_“They can’t know. They MUST not know.”_

I keep my back to her which pains me more than the agony I’m doing my best to endure.

She attempts to touch me again, but I stop her by snapping at her, “LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Not wanting to see the tears in her eyes, I flee the underpass. Only when I’m sure I won’t be easily found do I finally drop to my hands and knees.

My body shakes with the force of my retching. It doesn’t stop until I spit out a mouthful of my own blood. Gasping for breath, I hope my labored breathing eases soon. Arms shaking with fatigue, I stare dizzily at the red stain on the ground.

_“I’m sorry, Bayleaf...I didn’t want you to see me like this…”_

 

People eye me warily as I make my way through Ironcross Town. They see my incredible size and physique as intimidating. My worn-out clothes don’t help their view of me either.

At least the long sleeves of my shirt hide what I don’t want them to see…which excludes the shape of my chest- _(curse the fact all shirts are too small for me!)_

Watching my feet as I walk, I don’t see her until it’s too late.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going big guy!” Something spills all over the road with a metallic clang.

I look down to see gold, silver, and bronze coins scattered by my feet. A girl is quickly scooping them up and collecting them in a hand-sewn bag.

She takes a moment to flash me an unhappy frown. I catch sight of how her cheeks are speckled with brown. Freckles travel over the bridge of her nose too.

“I just won big and I’m not about to lose a single silver!” she continues with a huff.

Crouching down, I start to help her. It quickly becomes apparent she doesn’t want help, for every time I pick up a coin she swipes it from my hand in the next instant.

“ _I_ won this money fair and square so don’t you be getting any ideas, uh... _whoever_ you are!” she warns, faltering when it came to what to call me.

Stuffing the last coin in her bag, she stands up.

I straighten myself out and her eyes-dark blue orbs set deep under her brow-flutter nervously over me.

“...you really are built like a bull…” she mutters, more to herself than me.

Adjusting her bun-(made up of hair that reminds me of chocolate)-she looks me over once more. Then she turns to leave but doesn’t go anywhere. Turning back around, she steps to my side to look from her arm to mine.

I just raise an eyebrow at her behavior.

_“Why is she comparing our arm sizes?”_ I wonder, puzzled.

Frowning and not satisfied, she walks out in front of me.

“Just curious: how fast are you?” she questions, hands on her hips.

Ugh, I hate talking to girls. I’ll never understand their random questions or their unpredictable mood swings.

“I don’t know,” I admit quietly, my hair glowing a blinding white in the bright sunlight.

Briefly, I wonder if she can see the bandages beneath my bangs.

She sighs and I can tell she’s not happy with my answer but lets it pass.

“No one gives me a good challenge anymore,” she grumbles as she walks away.

_“What was that all about…?”_ I’m left standing there bewildered.

 

Passing by shacks, I make note of the scrap metal used by people to build their homes.

Most of the good materials like aluminum, titanium, carbon fiber, ect. go into making the Capitol’s toys: trains, hovercrafts, supports for the towering buildings in the Capitol, and the infamous Enforcers-apparently it’s a trade secret what alloy is used for those monsters.

The Hall of Journeys becomes the focus in the near distance. If you look closely at its pillars, you can see tiny, ivory trains carved into them like they’re climbing a spiraling mountain. District 6 is known for building the very trains that carry exports to the Capital and imports to the districts as well as the one that famously carries the tributes every year.

I come to a halt at the top of the steep hill that leads down to the center of District 6. Up here the air smells so fresh and open. The sun warms my pale skin and I close my cyan-colored eye in content.

When I finally open it again, a familiar bun bobs in my view.

The girl from earlier is making a mad dash for the Hall of Journeys alongside a shorter boy and a taller teen.

I assume they’re related in some way and continue down the hill. As I walk right up front, I notice the girl separate and fall back with the fifteen-year-olds. I make it into the pack of eighteen-year-old males as the horns come to life on the Hall of Journeys.

Blasting my ears with the National Anthem of Panem, the horns also play for the introduction of a man in a deep scarlet suit. His cropped black hair and fiery-orange eyes-(which can only be from contacts)-makes him look fierce. Dark mascara further emphasizes his powerful gaze.

“I know we haven’t met before, but you should know I’m your new Capitol representative, Drake Pyrissmus!” he announces with a tight knitting of his brow, “And I’m here to select the District 6 tributes for the 92nd annual Hunger Games. However, as is custom, I am to recite the punishments for rebellion. Please listen up, so I don’t have to repeat myself.”

His voice is edgy like he’s already tired of being here. It doesn’t lose its sharpness even after he finishes his lecture. A reaping ball is pushed out to meet him as he paces the stage. Glaring at it distrustfully, he yanks out a neatly-rolled sliver of paper. He flips it open without ever using his other hand.

“For the girls: Spinelli Marshal!” he announces, his eyes burning a hole in the name.

There it is again: the sound of coins colliding with the hard ground.

I look over to see the same girl I met standing with her bag and her money littered on the cobblestones by her feet. I guess she didn’t have time to drop off her earnings at home. Maybe, like me, she didn’t have a real one?

There’s a look on her face that reveals how stunned she is. She was so confident in her good luck today that she never even thought about this twist of chance. Now she forces herself to reconcile with it to get herself moving towards the stage.

Drake gives her a curt nod before reaching into the boy’s orb of fate.

“Kestrel Robindale!”

My heart slams to a halt inside my chest. If it’s even possible, I pale to a pasty white.

“No…” I gasp, my eye widening.

Somehow the Peacekeepers know where to find him and pull the poor boy out into the open. His knees knock together and he instinctively reaches out for his sister.

“B-Bay?!” he wails helplessly.

“I’m right here, Kestrel!” calls Bayleaf as she races to her brother’s side.

Once she’s within range, Kestrel latches onto her waist. His small body trembles against her taller one.

My heart threatens to burst as a range of emotions flare up in my cyan eye, illuminating the gold flecks: anger, dismay, confusion, panic, and too many others to name.

It comes time to tear the sandy-haired boy from his sister and he starts hyperventilating.

I pick up on the sign he’s having one of his anxiety attacks at the same time Bayleaf does.

She wraps her arms tightly around her baby brother and fights to keep a grip on him as a Peacekeeper tugs at him.

“Leave him alone! YOU CAN’T HAVE HIM!!” shrieks Bayleaf with the ferocity of a protective lioness.

Eyes moist, Kestrel holds on with all his might to the blurry image of his sister. He cries out in pure terror as the Peacekeepers pull with greater force.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!!” screams Bayleaf over and over again.

Up on stage, Spinelli’s hands are clenched tightly at her sides. She bites her lip until it bleeds.

My own body is rigid with tension. I need to move. I need to move _now_.

“ENOUGH!” I roar and all eyes are suddenly on me.

Removing myself from the crowd, I tower over the Peacekeeper holding Kestrel off the ground.

Kestrel kicks his short legs frantically while another Peacekeeper holds Bayleaf back.

The Peacekeepers swallow nervously as they take in my massive stature. To them, I look like I can easily crush their skulls with one hand.

“Put. Him. Down,” I order, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Obediently, the Peacekeeper sets Kestrel down gently at the same time Bayleaf sinks her sharp teeth into the other one’s hand. He yelps and lets go of her.

In the next heartbeat, Bayleaf is hugging her sobbing brother to her chest.

“We...we have to take him; he’s been chosen as tribute,” points out the first Peacekeeper, tugging at his shirt collar.

“No, you don’t...” My venomous glare kills his protest. “...because I volunteer.”

Bayleaf can no longer hold back her own tears as they begin to stream down her face. The very tears I ran away from this morning. However, when I meet her gaze, there are no signs of a grudge, just a sadness without measure.

Kneeling down to her level, I force a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come back.”

_“No, I won’t.”_

“The Games can’t kill me.”

_“Because something already is.”_

“I’ll be strong-”

_“-for a little while longer-”_

“-so you don’t have to worry, Bay because I won’t lose.”

_“I’ll just keep fighting a losing battle.”_

Shooting forward, she suddenly pulls me into their embrace. Kestrel does his best to reach around my waist while Bayleaf links her hands around my neck. My long arms easily extend around them both and I hold them close, my heart beating hard against my chest.

They must seem tiny compared to me.

I can’t stand the idea of letting them go. It’s a pain so unimaginable, I forget how to breathe.

Bayleaf cries into my shoulder while Kestrel finds a way for our eyes to connect. His milky-white pupils do little in terms of seeing and taking in light. Yet-this’ll probably sound odd-it’s like he can see me, just me, clearly.

“Big Brother, Kaiden,” he murmurs, nuzzling into my chest but keeping his eyes on me.

That’s it: I can’t keep my giant heart from breaking anymore. I can see everything in his eyes: I see him growing up. I see his sister as a beautiful, young woman. I see the sun breaking through the clouds. I see myself as his hero.

I see myself dying.

I leave them there in the middle of the aisle. I reassure myself that Bayleaf is strong-willed and her brother is smart and that they’ll learn to live without me. That soon, they won’t even need me anymore.

That they won’t feel the pain.

I climb the stage and fix Drake with a cold-blooded scowl. My eye silently dares him to argue my right to volunteer in Kestrel’s place.

I’m surprised to find a cool respect in his eyes.

“So Volunteer, what is your name?” he asks, never missing a beat.

“Kaiden Sauveterre,” I answer bluntly.

“And how old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

He looks surprised.

“What?” I demand.

“With that display of love, I thought you three were related,” he admits quietly.

Love? Is that what I feel for Kestrel and Bayleaf? There’s no doubt that I feel strongly for them...but love?

Shaking my head, I stand beside Spinelli as Drake addresses the crowd.

“Here are your District 6 tributes: Spinelli Marshall, 15, and Kaiden Sauveterre, 18!”

Spinelli looks up at me with dark blue eyes similar to Bayleaf’s. Something has changed in the way she looks at me.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers so only I can hear.

“So am I,” I mutter softly.

_“I’m sorry, Bayleaf, Kestrel...I….I love you both….but I won’t make it back.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaiden has taken a special place in my heart because my mother had cancer. Her mother had cancer. I can only hope that I avoid the battle they have taken-(and one has lost). If the day comes, I promise I will fight until the bitter end...and sweet renewal.


	7. District 12: Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine having a Peacekeeper as one or both of your parents. Good luck defying the Capitol then.  
> Melody has placed herself on Team Peeta. Too bad Katniss got him first...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Parents, in their quest to build your life for you, they forget to give you the chance to learn how to on your own. By trying to shape you into their perfect vision, they neglect who you really are. When you tell them, they look at you with genuine surprise. What is so surprising about you being you?"

_TsssshhhssSSSS!_

    Hissing into life, the TV screen shows only static. Someone pounds their fist into it and the picture gets slightly less fuzzy. However, the sound is coming through loud and clear.

    “-so explain this to me, Katniss: why don’t you admit that what you did was _wrong_?”

    That voice. There’s no mistaking it; it belongs to President Trancey Snow-the granddaughter of her predecessor.

    I look up from washing the dishes in the back. A woman looks up at me with a raised eyebrow from the serving counter.

    “Relax Melody, his _wife_ is just talking,” she points out in a huskier voice than what you’d expect from a woman.

    I fumble with the plate I’m holding and nearly shatter it against the metal sink. Relieved, I set it down on the rack to dry. It is one of the few good plates we have left, for the rest are made of cheap tin.

    “How do I explain something the Capitol refuses to understand?” comes Katniss’ sharp retort.

    “Then _make_ us understand, Katniss. You seem to be exceptional at getting people to listen to you,” urges President Snow, although I could have sworn she leaves an underlying warning in her words.

    _“I really wish we could get a better reception out here because I can’t see anything that’s going on, on the TV!”_ I think, frustrated.

    “Oh, but President _Snow_ , you have your own way of getting people to listen.” Wow, Katniss sounded edgy today.

    Not that anyone can blame her; since the failure of the Second Rebellion she created, she’s been stuck in a tiny cage and had her feathers plucked. Since then, she’s been forced to appear on TV from a jail cell or President Snow’s office-(with tight security to keep her in check.) She’s had to endure being without her two children for months at a time-even as long as three years one time. Her husband rarely gets to see her either.

    “Can you imagine what she must be going through, Abby?” I ask my boss, the woman with her shirt sleeves torn off, “I mean, her _son_ was reaped last year, right?”

    Grunting in answer, Abby chews on a sliver of a deer rib.

    I didn’t like Katniss Everdeen for one reason: who she married. Peeta Mellark is too much of a sweetheart to be dragged into the former Mockingjay’s messes.

    Sighing longingly, I remember how I started watching the Panem News just because of him. Even when I was little, I thought he was the cutest boy on the planet. Sure, he’s sixteen years older than me, but my mother married an older man.

In fact, she encourages me to seek an older man because they’re wiser. So Peeta is sixteen times the wiser, correct? Okay, okay! Maybe it does sound a little _naive_...but we can’t help who we fall for!

“-not acceptable. I was hoping you would have showed more progress this year,” admits President Snow, sounding like she is scolding one of her daughters.

“Funny, Peeta says something similar. He keeps hoping the Capitol will make progress on opening their eyes and seeing what is as obvious as day to everyone else,” retorts Katniss, not amused despite using the word ‘funny’.

“And what would that be? Enlighten us, Katniss. Get us started on this path you seem to want Panem to take,” encourages President Snow calmly.

“Why does she do that?” I ask Abby, scrubbing at the stubborn stain on another plate with a rag.

Shifting the bone in her mouth, Abby turns her gray eyes on me.

“Do what?”

“President Snow always sounds like she _wants_ Katniss to act out. Like she _wants_ Katniss to spark up another rebellion,” I explain, reaching into the murky water to feel for a mug.

“Maybe not another rebellion, but she be wantin’ the Mockingjay to stretch her wings again, to tempt her wit’ flight. That way President Snow can claim she has a reason to break her wing again,” mutters Abby, leaning on the counter to stare out at her empty cafe.

_“Business is slow again. I guess that’s to be expected in the poorest district in Panem,”_ I think, taking note of the barren chairs, _“It doesn’t help that today is the Reaping either…”_

Suddenly, the door swings open. A young man with blonde hair walks in dragging a deer carcass behind him.

“Turn that d*** thing off!” he snaps and I rush to comply.

On-the-other-hand, Abby fixes the teen with an annoyed glare.

“I don’t appreciate you comin’ in ‘ere and ordering us around, Rye. I don’t care if you be famous now. You step in ‘ere and you be in _my territory_ ,” she points out to him.

Rolling his gray eyes at her, he approaches the counter and his arm muscles bulge with the effort to lift the massive buck off the ground for Abby to inspect.

“I didn’t ask to be in-let alone the victor-of last year’s Games. And we both know District 12’s Reaping was rigged to make sure I got in,” he growls tiredly.

Abby snorts, “So how is the archery going?”

Rye slams his hands into the counter so hard I jump.

“I don’t f***ing shoot arrows! Why is everyone asking me _that_?! They wouldn’t shut up about it in the interviews and now?” snarls Rye, looking like he wants to slam his forehead into the counter next.

“You better not leave a dent in my counter,” warns Abby, cracking the bone with her strong jaw.

Finishing my duties for the day, I wipe my hands off on my apron before hanging it up on the hook in the kitchen. Without removing her gaze from Rye, Abby drops my meager pay in my hand as I pass.

“Just tell me how many you think this’ll feed,” sighs Rye, his temper losing steam.

“I be putting my money down on eight well-fed people on 'tis one. I be betting you surprised 'em wit' that fancy dagger throwing of yours in the arena,” I hear Abby say on my way out of the rickety cafe.

As I walk through Ashen Town-(where the old Seam used to be)-I try not to dwell on the fact Peeta’s _son_ came in. I also avoid thinking about how similar they both look except that Rye inherited his mother’s eyes.

I sigh, exasperated.

_“If only Rye didn’t have his mother’s attitude…”_ I think, disappointed.

I fear Rye Mellark might be the closest person I can get next to Peeta himself. But it’s Peeta’s _personality_ that I fell for, not his looks, so Rye doesn’t fit the bill to my liking.

Besides, Rye hasn’t taken on a girlfriend before or after his Games, so he's obviously not interested.

My heels kick up dust as I walk down the dirt path.

It's amazing anyone can live on this scorched earth, but District 12 is somehow managing...barely. None of the roads are pathed which leaves us having to scrape up our ancient shoes and cut the soles of our feet on sharp rocks.

Which reminds me: my right foot is still sore from stepping on that pointed stone yesterday. Hopefully, today my too-big boots will protect my delicate feet. When my foot catches in my boot, I trip. I pitch forward and close my eyes because I'm expecting a rude greeting from the ground.

When I feel strong arms catch me, I open my blue eyes in confusion. I look up so my bright eyes meet dark brown ones. While I'm staring, I notice the halo of caramel-brown pulsating at the edge of his irises.

_"Wait..._ he _?'_

A quick glance up and down and I discover that I am, in fact, in the arms of a man not much older than myself. A handsome one too, but I'm still recovering from my shock to fully notice.

    He blinks and I can tell he's as confused as I am.

    Embarrassed, I pull free and brush the dust from my faded blue pants.

    "Um, thanks for catching me! You saved me from a nasty fall there," I laugh nervously.

    No response. He just stares at me with deep concentration-like he's trying to figure something out.

    _"Not very talkative, is he?"_ I think.

    Spotting something coming up the path behind me, he suddenly shoves me aside.

    "Wah-?! Hey!" I fall onto my rump between two crumbling buildings that I can only assume were houses at some time.

    I'm about to demand why this spiky-haired boy catches me only to dump me on my rear a moment later, when a Peacekeeper comes into view. Crawling backwards, I retreat deeper into the shadows. I eye them both warily.

    "Light! Where have you been?!" demands the Peacekeeper.

    _"Wait...I know this Peacekeeper…."_ I think, picking my brain for a name.

    The exchange seems mostly one-sided because the boy, Light, doesn't really do much other than keep a level gaze with the Peacekeeper. As far as I can tell, Light is being scolded for slacking off. In what, I'm not sure.

    When I move back more, my hand slices open on the jagged top of a tin can. I let out a yelp before I can stop myself.

    The Peacekeeper's dark, narrow eyes focus on me and I feel a chill creep up my spine. There is a certain cruelty in his gaze like he doesn't understand what kindness is. If I stare into his eyes any longer, I might even see the people he's tormented mercilessly.

    _"Oh god….it's Atticus Trent,"_ I think, paling.

    The Peacekeeper they sent from District 3 came in the eye of a storm. At first, Peacekeeper Trent seemed really strict. He yelled at people a lot and kept a close eye on the inhabitants of District 12. But I guess we just kept getting on his nerves because his temper flared up more and more often.

    Now he's known for whipping you senseless if he finds you guilty of even a petty crime against the Capitol. Effectively, he's worn down any rebels still trying to be heard in District 12.

    And now his unrelenting glare is targeting me.

    "Why are you hiding girl?!" he demands, yanking me out of the shadows by my wrist.

    My jaw clicks together audibly as I am at a loss for words. I open and close my mouth.

    _"What do I say?! Come on, Melody! You're a smart girl, act like one!"_

His fingers have a vice-like grip around my wrist and it hurts. I struggle to pull free, but Peacekeeper Trent is strong.

    Meanwhile, I cradle my free hand to my chest as blood drips from it. The gash stings like h***fire.

    "You answer me, when I'm talking to you!" Black hair escapes from his white cap and curls around the brim.

    Looking to Light, I plead with my eyes for his help. His eyes are conflicted and he's giving me a puzzled expression again.

    _Drip. Drip._

    I've gotten cuts and scrapes before, but I'm starting to wonder what was on the can because my cut is sending pulses of burning heat up my arm. I can only hope it won't become infected.

    Noticing Light is staring at my bleeding hand, I'm not sure how to react.

    On-the-other-hand, Light figures out how he does. His hand darts out to peel Peacekeeper Trent's off of my wrist.

    "She's hurt," he points out to the older man, his gaze solid as stone.

    For some reason, Peacekeeper Trent frowns in some form of disappointment.

    "That's not my problem-"

    "-yeah, it's not. _She's_ not. Leave her be," interrupts Light.

    Scowling, Peacekeeper Trent’s eyes blaze with an intense heat that can also be found in Light’s dark chocolate eyes.

    Looking from one to the other, I wonder who is going to win this silent battle of wills.

    Surprisingly, Light does, for Peacekeeper Trent snorts and turns away.

    “Don’t grow attached to her, Light,” he warns before walking away.

    Cue awkward silence again. Not sure what to say, I try thanking Light for getting that Peacekeeper to leave me alone. He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal.

    Flashing Light a grateful smile, I trek back to my house. After a few steps, I realize Light is following me. I pause to glance over my shoulder at him.

    “Um, I’m okay now. You don’t have to follow me around,” I point out, wondering if I’ve suddenly acquired a stalker.

    “He’s watching you,” explains Light, his eyes gesturing behind him.

    Looking past his broad shoulders, I discover he’s right: Peacekeeper Trent is chatting with fellow uniform-clad men yet is keeping his focus on me.

    _“How’d he notice that, when I didn’t?”_ I wonder, unnerved by the Peacekeeper’s attention.

    However, it’s my hand that draws my attention, for the searing heat hasn’t subsided. I continue on my way home, somewhat relieved to have Light watching my back.

    Ashen Town is eerily quiet and I’m constantly reminded of the appropriate name as we pass not small piles but enormous heaps of ash. There is not a single tree or shrub in sight.

    Light scans his surroundings and I can tell this is new territory for him.

    _“I wonder if he comes from the wealthier Merchant Town in District 12?”_ I wonder briefly.

    Hopping onto the cracked porch, I knock on the door. I stare at the peeling paint and amuse myself by guessing what color the house once was.

    Yes, my family actually has a wood and stone house in District 12. It’s a bit crudely made and is already falling about, but it’s considered ‘fancy’ compared to the constant sight of close-knit shacks. Despite being a wealthy family-(well, wealthy for District 12)-the White Family decided to settle in Ashen Town. My parents claim it builds character. I think they just wanted to get away from their nosy neighbors in Merchant Town.

    “Um, you can go-” My voice trails off as I discover Light is gone.

    Up the road in both directions, I can’t see any traces of him. I’m still searching, when my mother opens the door.

    We stand eye-to-eye at the same height: just under five-and-a-half feet. She greets me with a warm smile until she notices the blood trailing from my hand. Her face twists into one of heavy concern and horror.

    “Melody! What did you do to your hand?!” she gasps, pulling my inside and shutting the door.

    In the next minute, I find myself sitting in a chair in the kitchen while my mother tends to my wound. I grit my teeth to refrain from crying out, when she rinses in the gash clean with alcohol.

    Rosalie-”Rosey”-skips in to join us. Curiously, she watches our mother wrap my hand with clean, white gauze.

    “Whatcha doing?” she asks brightly.

    “Your older sister cut herself, so I’m putting this big band-aid on her hand,” answers Mother, smiling half-heartedly.

    Nodding like she understands, Rosey bounces over to my side. The entire way, her curly, rowan hair extends and contracts like springs. She takes my bandaged hand in her smaller ones and holds it to her warm cheek.

    “I hope Big Sis’ hand feels better soon~” she chirps.

    For some reason, I suddenly remember today is the Reaping. Yearning to hug my sister, I pull her in close. I rest my chin on her soft head, our shades of red-brown hair mixing together.

    When it’s time to pull away, I’m afraid to let her go.

 

    Rosey tops out at about three feet, so she bounces at a foot below my shoulders. Her hand grasps my good one as we walk the short distance to the center of District 12.

    Unlike all the other districts, District 12 only has two towns-Ashen Town and Merchant Town, poor and rich, new and old-so the central plaza is never far for either side.

    The sun is already blazing high in the sky and I inhale the coal dust that rides in on the wind. Leaving a chalky taste on my tongue, I spit at the ground in an attempt to get most of it out of my mouth.

    Smoothly, I transfer Rosey’s hand to Mother’s before breaking off towards the roped off section for the seventeen-year-old girls. I’m one of the last to gather.

    In front lies the Hall of Justice-(the new one anyway.) The Capitol reconstructed it to look like it did before the Second Rebellion, yet it is far too shiny in the mid-morning sun to be the same building. A stage stretches out before it and a whole squad of Peacekeepers are lined up along it.

    _“Why does the Capitol insist on stationing nearly three dozen of its goons in District 12? We’re tiny, undernourished, and the Mockingjay has already been captured. What are they afraid we’ll do?”_ I wonder, but I already know the answer.

    The Capitol is setting an example. Defy it and it’ll leave you with absolutely nothing and watch as you squabble at its feet to survive.

    Immersing myself in my thoughts, I don’t even realize they’ve played the National Anthem of Panem. It ends as I come back to reality.

    _Click. Clack. Click._

A plump woman shuffles out in heels squeezed onto her wide feet. Her face is bright and beaming...until her face smacks into the floor.

    I exchange looks with the girl next to me. We both silently ask each other: _“Did she really just trip and face-plant on stage?”_

    The woman gets up with a stunned expression. She seems extremely confused as to why she’s suddenly on the floor. Cheeks glowing a rosy-red, she gets up with the help of a nearby Peacekeeper. Embarrassed, she dusts off her wine-red skirt. Recovering, she breaks out into a quirky grin and finishes her trek to center stage.

    “Welcome everyone to the Reaping for the 92nd annual Hunger Games!” she announces, clapping her hands together.

    Something sparkles on her finger and I realize it’s a ring. I think I remember hearing about how you exchanged rings in the Capitol, so everyone knows you’re officially married.

    Adjusting her thin glasses over her hazel eyes, she pulls out...notecards?

    “You probably haven’t seen me before because this is my first time in lovely District 12-” Everyone stares at the destroyed landscape expanding from the Central Plaza. “-so let me introduce myself: my name is Destiny Farrichton and I’ll be your Capitol representative District 12!”

    She squeals excitedly and looks at the crowd eagerly.

    I hope she doesn’t expect us to share her energy. I also can’t stop gawking at her wild, dark-brown hair. It’s so frizzy it poofs out like a lion’s mane. Tilting my head, I wonder if she’s even aware…

    Her nervous passion for speaking doesn’t fade as she reviews the rules of the Games and consequences for sabotage, rebellion, disobeying, ect.

    “Oh, the suspense is too much! Let’s see who our District 12 champions will be~” Did I hear her right? She said _champions_ right?

    Rye Mellark’s victory last year must be making Destiny overly confident. I mean, Rye was no ordinary tribute; he is the son of the previous District 12 victors, Katniss Everdeen, and Peeta Mellark! With the fiery spirit of his mother and natural survival instincts, of course he’d win.

    However, not every child in District 12 is destined to be the next Katniss or Rye. Heck, most don’t even know how to hunt and can’t be expected to fend for themselves.

    Strolling over to the boys’ Reaping ball, Destiny selects a sliver of paper. What a fitting name for the one who decides which one of us will die in the arena…

    “Light Trent!” she calls out, reading the name stamped on the paper.

    The name throws me off.

    _“Light_ Trent _?! So when he and Peacekeeper Trent were talking...he was standing up to his_ father _?!”_ My mind rapidly puts the pieces together, _“No wonder Peacekeeper Trent didn’t cut out his tongue for talking back…”_

The eighteen-year-old boys part to let Light pass.

    Light moves at a leisurely pace, his hair like gloomy spikes under the bright sun.

    Without warning, Peacekeeper Trent breaks rank and moves to intercept his son. With his father blocking his path, Light stops and frowns.

    “Light Trent _cannot_ be a tribute!” he declares, staring up at Destiny on the stage.

    Destiny’s grin falls crooked. Her hazel eyes portray her bewilderment.

    “What do you mean?” she asks.

    “I didn’t move here to have my son pay for these people’s sins. If they don’t like having their runts shipped off to the Capitol for slaughter, then they shouldn’t have thrown their petty tantrums. But I came out here because the Capitol asked me to nicely. I’ve done my job, so the Capitol better pay up and take my son’s name _out of the Reaping_!” demands Peacekeeper Trent, his narrow eyes shadier than ever.

    “Oh, uh….well, I….” Destiny fumbles for words, unsure of how to deal with the situation.

    Her eyes asked: _“Is that allowed? Can we do that? Take a child’s name out because he’s the child of a Peacekeeper?”_

    By this point, a woman who is old enough to be Light’s mother has stepped to Light’s side. She rubs his arm soothingly with a gentle hand. Only a careful eye can tell her hand is shaking because she’s about to fall apart. Her curly, brown hair flows down her back and her right eye is bruised purple.

    Oddly, my gaze turns to Peacekeeper Trent as he yells at Destiny. Eyes narrowing suspiciously, I believe I have a fairly decent idea of how he treats his wife.

    No one gets a black eye by accident.

    “He wasn’t even born _here_! His birthplace is District 3, so he can’t even be eli-” Abruptly, Light shoves past his father.

    For a moment, matching brown eyes lock in a sort of stand-off.

    “Have some faith in me for once, Dad; I can do it,” he insists firmly.

Then time is moving forward and Light hops onto the stage.

Grinding his teeth, Peacekeeper Trent appears to be on the verge of a violent outburst. But then he surprises me by returning to his spot in the line.

“Well, um, I guess that means you’re staying as a tribute, right Light?” questions Destiny, recollecting herself.

Light nods curtly.

“Then let’s pick our lucky girl!” Destiny fumbles with the tiny slip of paper, her hands trembling with her nerves.

“Melody White!” she announces.

My eyes water without my permission, but I stubbornly hold back tears.

_“Be strong, Melody! Peeta didn’t cry. You have to be strong,”_ I silently remind myself.

Setting foot on stage feels so alien. It doesn’t feel right.

I don’t like being able to look out and down at the crowd. It makes me feel like I am no longer one of them: a citizen of the impoverished District 12. I don’t feel any closer to the Capitol citizens, so I descend into limbo. I am neither one. I am stuck in between.

“Here are your District 12 tributes: Light Trent, 18, and Melody White, 17! May the odds be ever in their favor~” announces Destiny.

As the doors of the Hall of Justice close behind us, my thoughts turn to my mother and Rosey.

_“If I die in the arena...I want my death to trade for Rosey’s survival. May fate decide to spare my baby sister.”_


	8. District 10: Reaping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our first twelve-year-old tribute is introduced. Felix is a gentle soul who wants nothing better than to spend his days with his best friend, Martha. How long until the Games break him?  
> Annalise is not here to play nice. Time to see how far her selfish attitude gets her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "She has long mistaken being spoiled for being strong, being defiant for being independent, and being reckless for being brave."
> 
> "The bond someone shares with their pet is beautiful: a pet owner will make it their duty to do everything that can be done to make their pet's life as fulfilling and peaceful as possible. In return, a pet will provide a love for their owner that exceeds that which they give themselves."

The tall grass bends to the might of the wind. Earthly fragrances such as fresh soil and wet grass fills the air.

A lumbering shape of white and black swims through the sea of green. Hooves soften the ground and a hairy tail swishes back and forth.

The sight brings a smile to my face. I bring my fingers to my lips and whistle.

A broad head pops out above the grass and her ears twitch. Hoofbeats draw closer until the entire creature emerges from the tall grass. Dark, round eyes find my blue ones.

I click my tongue against my teeth and watch her ears quiver in response.

She’s listening.

“Where’s Felix, Martha? Where is he?” I ask.

With a snort, the cow steps closer and nuzzles my cheek.

“That’s right, Martha, here I am!” I laugh as her nostrils flare and blast my face with warm air.

She raises her head to tug at my sunset orange hair with her teeth. Playfully, I push her massive head away. In retaliation, she pulls back her lips and exhales in my face. My eyes water and I wave away her breath-which smells like moldy leaves and soggy grass.

“Yuck! Your breath stinks, Martha!” I complain, wrinkling my nose.

Her eyes carefully watching me, Martha puts her snout back into my face to sniff me curiously. Without warning, she sneezes and sprays me with mucus.

“Eww! Gross, Martha! Cover your nose with your hoof, when you sneeze!” I whine, wiping the slime away.

    In apology, she tries to help by licking it off. Squirming, I resist the urge to shove her away as her rough tongue rubs across my skin. In the end, I’m a soggy mess.

    "Thanks," I mumble, pouting.

   

    It's hard to laugh and run at the same time, I find.

    The wind ripples through the grass like waves. Steadily climbing higher and higher, the sun warms my back and darkens my tan.

    Dashing across the grazing field, I hear hooves pound behind me. I don't dare look back. Besides, I know who my pursuer is.

    A wide head bumps me and I find myself tumbling through the air and falling off of Martha's side. She bites into my shirt and lifts me to my feet in one swoop. I laugh and take off again.

    This game of chase ensues long after the sun has ascended to its peak in the blue sky. Eventually, I'm exhausted, so I turn around and leap-frog over Martha's head as she charges at me. I land sitting backwards on her back. Panting, I copy Martha by sticking my tongue out. She cranes her neck to give me a big, wet smooch. I gag and wipe her drool from my lips.

    "No, Martha! No kisses!" I try to be serious, but I cave at the cute, puppy-eyed look she's giving me over her shoulder.

    Sighing, I pat her thick neck.

    "If you still have so much energy, let's go for a walk," I suggest, adjusting the pressure my thighs put on her flanks to steer her.

    Soon, she's trotting along the wooden fence bordering the fields. When we reach the gate, I lean down to open it and Martha marches right on through. We come to a fork in the road and I spot a group of teenagers walking up the road. I squint to make out any details from this distance.

    They all appear older than me and something seems oddly familiar about the girl walking in the center. Tilting my head, my brow furrows in concentration. Her auburn hair catches the sunlight, yet she faces away from me, so I can't make out any other features.

    I bounce with each step Martha takes and I bend down to rub her neck. In response, she lets out an affectionate _mooooo_.

    Suddenly, the straight, auburn hair whips out as the girl turns around to look our way. Pausing, she watches us approach. The three girls and two guys she has with her stop too.

    Shyly, I avoid making eye contact. I wish she'd turn around and go on her merry way again.

    But she doesn't. She just fixes me warm, brown eyes, yet for some reason I shiver.

    "What are you doing….uh….riding that _thing_ out here?" She nose scrunches at the sight of Martha.

    _"Is she blind? This is District 10, the district of livestock. Why wouldn't I be on a cow?"_ I wonder.

    "These _are_ Bovine Fields-" I begin before she intterupts.

    "Ugh! That thing _reeks_! If you don't mind, get that filthy creature away from me!" Covering her mouth with her hand, she looks almost ill.

    My blue eyes sharpen.

    "S-She has a name," I whisper bravely.

    "What?"

    "The cow. She has a name," I repeat a little louder.

    "What? Did you say something?" The taller girl examines her nails and quickly picks at the dirt stuck beneath one.

    "Her name is Martha!" I yell, startling both her and myself.

    A short, curly-haired girl steps forward, her face scrunched in fury.

    "Don't raise your voice at Annalise!" she roars.

    Another girl, scrawny and tall, steps forward to point her index finger at me accusingly.

    "Yeah! Show some respect!" she chimes.

    Oh….I see how it is.

    The auburn-haired girl, Annalise, smirks as her posse rallies around her. They all fix me with venomous looks.

    I stare back, puzzled.

    “What are you waiting for?! Apologize!” blurts out the curly-haired girl.

    _“Probably best to just ignore them and not get involved. Too late for getting on their bad side though…”_

Squeezing Martha's flank, I silently coax her to walk again. Instantly, she responds and skirts past the group in a wide arch.

    Apparently, this was a bad move because the girls scream at me, “Where are you going?! Get back here and apologize!”

    _“I see no reason to apologize, when I've done nothing wrong,”_ I reassure myself.

    Swinging her hips, Martha adds some sass to her walk. I smirk, for I know she's teasing them in her own special way. Usually, I'd scold her if she gets like this, but I feel those teens are a worthy exception.

    Without warning, I'm jerked off of Martha-who _moos_ in surprise. I hit the dry ground so hard the air is knocked from my lungs. Dazed, my vision refocuses to have some broad-shouldered guy take up most of it. Barely, I remember seeing him in Annalise's harum.

    He pants from his jog to catch up to me. His dark eyes glare mercilessly down at me and I gulp down air, desperate to refill my lungs.

    _Thump. Thump. Thump._

More footsteps. Like a ring of vulchers, Annalise and her gang circle around me. I see no hint of sympathy in any of their eyes, especially Annalise's light brown ones.

    “You think you can ignore me, Runt?” she asks snarkily.

    I'm still too breathless to respond. She takes my silence as an act of defiance.

    “Listen here, _Runt_ , and listen good. I'm _above_ you and I will _always_ be above you. So lowlife like you should know to respect me. Flatter me and I might forgive you for being so _ugly_ and rolling around in the mud,” she explains, crossing her arms and sticking out her hip.

    “Yeah, _Runt_!” adds the curly-haired girl.

    “You should be honored that Annalise is even talking to you.”

    Propping myself up on my elbows, I can't hide the hurt in my eyes. Why me? Why did they choose me to pick on? I never treat people like they're dirt. Yet, here I am getting harassed by those who are better off and not a friend in sight to come to my rescue.

    Noting the muscles on display from his ripped sleeves, I see fighting back is not an option. I'm at least a foot shorter than the guy who knocked me down. There's a good chance he can do it again and crack my skull on the ground next time.

    I swallow nervously at the thought.

    “Maybe he doesn't understand our sophisticated language, girls. Let's speak in his tongue-” Annalise waits a second to let out the worst cow impression I've ever heard.

    The girls laugh and the two guys smirk darkly. All of a sudden, all of them are mocking Martha's beautiful voice with what they believe she sounds like. One girl snorts, when she laughs.

    Annalise doesn't continue because her friends take her place. She fixes me with a triumphant grin, for she knows she has me trapped.

    “Hey...I….stop…” I choke out, unable to raise my voice above a whisper.

    Annalise cackles at my misery...until she's tossed into the air.

    Martha rams the skinny girl from behind, whips her head up, and flings the self-absorbed girl high into the air.

    Annalise shrieks as gravity pulls her back down.

    The guys bump into each other trying to get under her to catch her. The trio of girls scatter in a panic.

    Annalise misses both guy's outstretched arms and lands hard on her rear. I will not be surprised if she shatters her tailbone. She whimpers and can't get up from a sitting position.

    The husky boy offers her a hand, but she slaps it away.

    “Don't touch me! Can't you see I'm hurt?!” she shrieks.

    By now, I'm stroking Martha's broadhead, secretly praising her for her actions.

    Finally, Annalise manages to stand up and quickly pats the dust out of her beige shorts. She glares venomously at me and Martha.

    “Control that beast of yours or I’ll have it taken straight to the slaughterhouse!” she snarls viciously.

    Martha’s nostrils flare as she restrains her anger. I can tell she wants to head-butt the queen bee again.

    On-the-other-hand, I’m nearly trembling with fear. Anxiety builds in my blood because I have a strong sense that her threat is genuine: that she can and will drag Martha to the Butcher’s in BloodWell Town. I hope I don’t have to explain why it’s called that…

    Slowly-as if to avoid startling a potential predator-I back away. My leather boots crunch against the gravel on the path. Tugging on Martha’s tail, I urge her to follow. Eventually she does, but she’s not happy about it.

    Soon my awkward, backwards walk swivels into a sprint...where I trip and fall flat on my face. My cheeks stings from a new scrape as I pick myself up, ears burning.

    _“Why must I be so clumsy at the most inconvenient times?!”_ I wonder in exasperation.

    Grabbing onto Martha, I hop onto her back as she takes off.

    “Yeah, you better run, Runt!” I hear Annalise call.

    Ignoring her, I hug my body close to Martha’s so I don’t slow her down as much. She gallops along the wooden fence at a steady pace. A dust cloud kicks up behind her.

    _Clip-clip. Clop. Clip-clip. Clop._

Carefully, I steer Martha towards the center of District 10. Martha thunders down the path in its direction. As much as I want to avoid it, the Reaping is here. The tributes haven’t even be selected yet and I can’t help but pity them.

    Yeah, the hours are long and few people enjoy the annual slaughter of the cattle, but no one wants to leave the life we have here. No one wants to leave District 10 to die in an arena conjured up by the Capitol’s sadistic masterminds.

    By the time we reach the central plaza, Martha is panting hard. Still, she refused to slow down until we reached our destination. Hooves echoing off the cobblestones, Martha watches her feet curiously. She likes the strange sound they make on the stone.

    Of course the central plaza in the middle of District 10 would have an actual paved area. The Capitol would never trouble its representatives with setting foot on dirt, even in the poorer districts.

    Despite dairy cows and bulls with every horn shape and size being a common sight here, Martha and I are an oddity.

The wealthier ranchers ride horses, when herding their herds to grazing sites. Everyone else rents horses from the few horse breeders in District 10 to guide their cattle.

I’m the only one-(that I know of)-who rides a dairy cow wherever I go. My family can’t afford a horse and riding cows is something I’ve been doing since I was tiny. In fact-

 

_Giggling, I saunter through the tall grass. My elder brothers chase me around Bovine Fields. Luckily, I lose them in the towering blades of grass. Unfortunately, I get lost too._

_I’m alright at first. Then I walk for hours and can’t find either one of my brothers. I think I hear them calling in the distance, but their voices are so faint I can’t tell which direction._

_The sky grows dark as the sun sets in a glorious array of orange, red, pink, and yellow._

_Shaking from the cold and fear, I wrap my short arms around my body. I decide to stop walking and curl up into a fetal position._

_Something warm and moist lands on my knee. It takes me a moment to realize I’m crying. Rubbing at my eyes, I urge myself to stop to no avail. I’m just so scared._

_“Moooo!”_

_Startled, I look up into dark eyes. Eyes round with innocence, the calf balances on shaky legs as it stares at me._

_“Moo?”_

_The calf nuzzles my hand-which is wet from wiping at my tear-stained cheeks. Frightened, I jerk my hand away. Persistent, the calf nudges my hand again. I whimper and scoot away. The calf steps closer and licks the salt trailing down my cheeks in clean streaks. I push the calf’s wide head roughly away. Again, the baby animal comes back to continue licking my face._

_She doesn’t pause in her gentle cleaning until my tears stop falling. She doesn’t run away frightened, even when I throw a stone at her to get her to leave me alone. She doesn’t pull her muzzle away from my hand until my sniffles subside._

_She doesn’t leave me._

_When my brothers find me, I’m fast asleep on the side of a hill. My shaggy, orange head rests on the calf’s flank and rises and falls with each breath. Bending down, my eldest brother tried to pick me up only to find I will stubbornly cling to the calf. He tried, but he could not separate us. Instead, he carried me and the calf home asleep in his arms._

_I named the calf Martha and she naturally followed me wherever I went. As I got bigger, she also grew. However, her growth was more accelerated than mine. By the time I was nine, I could ride her. Soon, that became our common way of travel: me riding on Martha’s back. I enjoyed the piggy-back rides she gave me, even if they were bumpy._

_I knew I’d never leave Martha just like she would never leave me._

_We would be together ‘till the end._

 

Or so I thought.

Riding into my spot in the way back, I join the other twelve-year-old boys. Eavesdropping on the juicy gossip passing through the crowd, I follow a boy’s gaze: he’s staring at the group of teenagers that arrive.

Recognizing Annalise’s overly-confident smile as she addresses her adoring fans in the crowd, I slink lower on Martha’s back. Desperately, I hope she doesn’t notice me. To my relief, she and her posse walk right past me without ever looking my way.

Unlike me, she splits off and struts right up front to where the eighteen-year-olds stand.

I’m grateful for Martha’s company and willingness to carry me today. I feel like my nerves will short-circuit my systems and cause me to faint. This is my first year of eligibility. My odds are slim because my name was only entered once and is one name in thousands.

But we are all aware of how cruel the odds can be.

Martha remains amazingly calm through the playing of the anthem and when the speakers shriek sharp enough to cause everyone gathered to flinch. Some brightly-colored man races out to adjust the mic on stage and save our ears. He swiftly makes his exit as a woman walks out onto the stage.

I’m stunned; this woman looks frighteningly young, perhaps not more than ten years older than me.

However, she carries herself with poise and maturity beyond her years. Her ebony hair gathers in twin buns with thick strands escaping down the sides of her face. Brown eyes take in the audience in a wide sweep. Her gaze lingers on a fourteen-year-old girl in the audience.

I wonder why she’s so interested in...oh, what was her name?...Muishi! Muishi Hidaki, the dark-haired girl with the crescent-shaped, almond-colored eyes.

“Greetings, District 10. I am your Capitol representative, Kyore Hidaki-” she begins before the crowd breaks out in hushed whispers and murmurs.

“Kyore? Isn’t she Muishi’s older sister?”

“What’s she doing working for the _Capitol?!_ ”

“Traitor.”

“She’s conspiring with our overlords…”

“Didn’t she almost get reaped seven years ago? But some girl volunteered in her place and saved her sorry butt.”

Quirking an eyebrow, I wonder if anything they’re saying is true. So our representative this year is one of our own. Shouldn’t that make people like her more? Wouldn’t she sympathize with us better?

“-move on to the selection of our tributes.” Woah, I didn’t even hear her recite the consequences of rebellion and the punishments for Capitol opposition. Did she even say them?

“Tck, how can she talk like she’s _one of us_?”

“She stopped being a part of District 10 the second she went crawling to the Capitol to protect her!”

_“Am I the only one who doesn’t hate her from the get-go?”_ I wonder, flashing Kyore a pitying look.

With delicate hands, Kyore reaches into the girl’s reaping ball first. She doesn’t hesitate to call out the name.

“Annalise Beth Coles!”

Does it make me a terrible person if I don’t feel bad that _she_ is a tribute this year?

Suddenly, Annalise doesn’t look so smug anymore. She visibly pales as she drags her scrawny body up those stairs. Despite her treatment, I worry that the wind will shatter her. She just looks so fragile and thin.

_“She acts like she’s  from a high family, yet she physically portrays having gone days without eating. Her cheeks are full, but her arms and legs are like twigs!”_

“Felix Sarthers!” announces Kyore and I remember I wasn’t paying attention to her.

Now she has my complete and utter attention.

“M- _Me_?” I swallow nervously.

Sensing the stage is where I need to go, Martha-oblivious to the weight of the situation-trots up and onto the platform.

Kyore stares at me riding a black and white cow but doesn’t say anything.

I take that as an okay to keep Martha with me...for a little longer, at least.

“Ugh, _you._ Leave the ugly animal at home, Runt,” growls Annalise, who stands nearby.

Snorting, Martha sticks her tongue out at Annalise and the girl gawks at her. Sliding off of Martha, I keep an arm hooked around her thick neck. I don’t want to be up high and see the crowd. I don’t want to see my parents’ faces or my brothers’.

I don’t want to remember that there’s not a single person out there who I can call friend.

“Here are your tributes District 10: Annalise Beth Coles, 18, and Felix Sarthers, 12!” declares Kyore.

The crowd erupts into loud muttering and gossip. People always feel awful, when a twelve-year-old gets reaped. No one wants to see a kid that young die senselessly in the arena’s bloodbath.

“I think you should consider my offer and have that thing taken to the Butcher’s. That way, you can find your stinkin’ animal again in the afterlife, when you fail to make it past the first day in the arena,” mocks Annalise, her brown eyes raking me.

I have no regrets, when Martha turns around and kicks Annalise off the stage. She shrieks as she collapses onto the dirt below. Hoof prints are stained into the back of her shirt as she picks herself up off the ground. Her eyes burn with a deep hatred over her shoulder at us.

But I’m not looking. I’m laughing into Martha’s cheek and she sticks her long tongue out to lick my nose.

Shyly, I bury my face into Martha’s soft belly, when Annalise climbs back on stage. Blue eyes peeping out from the black splotch on Martha’s flank, I can’t stop staring at the hoof marks…

**Author's Note:**

> I started this on www.Fanfiction.net, so the SYOT is already closed. However, I have many more Hunger Games fan-fics planned, including:  
> The Dark Days: Rebellion  
> Rigged (Maybe SYOT)  
> The New Age - 1st Hunger Games - SYOT  
> I am Your Victor


End file.
